


A Step Out of Time

by Fier



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Bullying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fier/pseuds/Fier
Summary: Mulder and Scully travel to Boston to assist the local field office with a series of murders, and to work with one of Mulder's former colleagues from the VCS. While there, Mulder encounters an agent he knew from Quantico--and before--and whose favorite sport is Spooky-bashing. Mulder and Scully, meanwhile, try valiantly to retain their emotional distance even while they're being drawn closer together.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: A Step Out of Time
> 
> AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter
> 
> EMAIL ADDRESS: 70302.3654@compuserve.com
> 
> DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Post anywhere. Thanks.
> 
> SPOILER WARNING: A short reference to "Grotesque."
> 
> RATING: PG-13. Some swear words.
> 
> KEY WORDS: Mulder/Scully UST.
> 
> CLASSIFICATION: S, A
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I may have stretched things a bit with regard to Mulder's education... his age, to be specific. Just go with it. Heck, the show does. :)
> 
> THANKS: For editing assistance, to Jill, and to Miki, who knocked some sense into me about some of my settings.

**FBI Headquarters Assistant Director Skinner's Office April 11, 1996 3:15 p.m.**

"Look, Mulder, I would have refused, but they're completely stymied." Walter Skinner leaned across his desk and looked into the unhappy eyes of Fox Mulder.

"You're talking about Boston."

Skinner knew his agent's quick mind would put it all together long before the AD ever got around to mentioning it. He nodded curtly.

"Who?"

Skinner was waiting for it. Mulder's face was unreadable, but Skinner could feel the tension radiating from the younger man.

"John Dutton."

Surprise registered on the agent's face. The AD was pleased to note that the accompanying expression was delight, not the grim consent with which Mulder had accepted these assignments in the past. If Skinner didn't know better, he'd have sworn he saw a twinkle in his usually-somber agent's eyes.

"John Dutton..." As Skinner watched on in amazement, a smile actually pulled at the corners of Mulder's mouth.

"He's the Special Agent in Charge. You'll be reporting to him."

"John's a SAC?" Then he nodded and smiled in acknowledgment. "John's a good agent. A good man."

Skinner studied his agent for a moment. "He speaks highly of you, too."

Mulder lowered his eyes and stared at the top of Skinner's desk. "Yeah."

"Look, Mulder, I know why you left Violent Crimes. I know how these cases affect you..."

The agent looked up. "But you're going to ask me to do it anyway."

Skinner hated this. Absolutely detested having to put one of his people--and especially this one--into such an untenable position. There was only one thing he could think of that would make the assignment even tolerable for his agent. "I want you to take Scully with you."

Mulder's eyes, gratitude mingling with apprehension in them, met his, and he nodded.

* * *

**X-Files Office April 11, 1996 4 p.m.**

"How's the weather at this time of year? Do I need a coat?" The red-haired agent tidied up her desk unnecessarily; it was picture-perfect, as always.

Mulder looked at his own messy desk and sighed. "It's April, Scully. It's Boston." His eyes took in the small, thin frame of his partner. "It's cold, and it's rainy. Take a coat. Take a _warm_ coat."

Working Violent Crimes again. Jesus. Wouldn't they ever leave him alone? He thought back a few years, to his first assignment; he was eager, young, the Bureau's bright rising star. When he left VCS a few years later, disappointing everyone who'd pinned that label on him, his future was looking considerably dimmer.

He jumped when he felt her hand on his arm; he hadn't even seen her cross the room. "I'm glad Skinner assigned me to this case with you."

He felt his face redden, and then he smiled ruefully. "Me, too."

* * *

**Boston Field Office April 12, 1996 8:55 a.m.**

Mulder walked into the SAC's office and stopped dead. Scully had to do some fancy maneuvering to avoid smacking into his back.

"Where's Dutton?" her partner asked in a flat voice.

Scully had always found the black hair/blue eyes combination particularly devastating, and the guy seated behind the desk was no exception. Raising her brows in unabashed awe as his muscles actually _rippled_ beneath his white shirt, she wondered if she and Mulder would be working with this... adonis. She figured he was at least six-four if he was an inch. My God, and he was gorgeous to boot. She was sure she was in love.

And then he spoke. "This is _my_ case... Spooky."

Beside her, Mulder stiffened noticeably. "The AD said that Dutton requested my help. Where is he?"

The adonis leaned back into the chair. "Dutton's the SAC, but I'm the Agent in Charge of this investigation." He laced his hands behind his head. "You're working for me, Spooky."

Scully was standing close enough to feel the anger radiating through the man at her side. "The hell I am." Mulder turned and walked out the door.

Scully seethed as she stared after her partner. Slowly she turned and faced the lower lifeform behind the desk; her infatuation with the man had vanished along with her partner. "Who are you? Where's Dutton? And don't try any of that 'Spooky' crap on me." She straightened her frame to her full five foot three and turned on the ice. She smiled to herself as the man squirmed. It was good to know that Mulder wasn't the only one on whom it worked.

"Uh... I'm MacNicol." His eyes narrowed as the 'Scully Effect' wore off. "Who the hell are you?"

"Scully," she answered, and offered nothing more. She could give as good as she got.

"And who the fuck are you?"

"I'm the best goddammed forensic pathologist you'll find for this case." She pivoted on her heel and headed for the door, then stopped, turned around, and smiled sweetly. "And I'm Mulder's partner."

MacNicol's expression of dismay stayed with her all the way out to the car. Scully permitted herself a tiny smirk.

She still had it.

* * *

**Boston Field Office Parking Lot April 12, 1996 9:03 a.m.**

Mulder sat behind the wheel of the rental with his eyes closed. He'd been totally unprepared. When he opened that door, he'd expected to be greeted by a friend, not faced with a nightmare.

He'd embarrassed himself. In front of MacNicol. In front of Scully.

God. MacNicol. The worst of the worst. A nightmare within a nightmare.

The passenger door opened, and Mulder was startled out of his reverie; Scully slid in and buckled her seat belt. "Who was that jerk, Mulder?"

The senior agent allowed a smile to sneak onto his face. Trust Scully to give him a whole new perspective. Mulder flashed her a smile of gratitude, then looked down at his hands. "Robert MacNicol. I... knew him when I was young. In high school. And then... we were at Quantico together."

"You and he are the same age?"

He heard the surprise in her voice, and he met her eyes. "No."

"But--" Scully stared at him, and a light suddenly clicked on in her head. She had heard the 'Spooky' tales; every recruit at Quantico had. Stories of the kid barely old enough to shave whose talents had eclipsed everyone--even those of his instructors--had fascinated her. They had even sparked a touch of resentment in her--until she had heard the underlying derision with which the accounts were related. Rather than feeling envious of the boy genius, Scully had felt sorry for him.

"Let's go get something to eat," she said quietly.

* * *

**Sunshine Breakfast Stop April 12, 1996 9:35 a.m.**

Scully leaned back in the wrought-iron chair and rested her elbows on the round white top of the metal table. The little coffee shop was not the best they'd ever been in, but it had plenty of character. And the coffee was delicious.

"Tell me about Quantico." Scully blew on her coffee; it wasn't all that hot, but it would afford Mulder an opportunity to organize his thoughts.

"It's where the FBI Academy is located. It's situated on 385 acres--"

"Mulder..." She tried to inflect more amusement than annoyance into her voice.

Mulder smiled and shrugged. "You asked."

"Uh, huh. Now tell me what went on with you and MacNicol."

"Scully..." The pained expression in his eyes was almost enough to make her back down.

Almost.

"Tell me."

Anger flared in her partner's eyes as he stared at her defiantly. She covered his hand with hers.

"Listen, Mulder. I was there. I know what--"

"How can you possibly know?" he hissed. "You had friends. You have no idea how--" He bit his lip and turned his head away from her.

Yet she was very much aware of how he allowed his hand to remain beneath hers. She squeezed it gently. "You're right. I'm sorry."

He sighed and turned back to face her. "No. I shouldn't have snapped. It's MacNicol I'm mad at. Not you."

She gave what she hoped was a smile of support. "It's all right. I may not know, but I can try to understand."

He moved his free hand to envelop hers, sandwiching her much smaller hand between his palms. "That's what I love about you, Scully. You at least try to understand." A weary smile trudged across his face. "You don't always succeed, but you do try."

She laughed and shook her head; her eyes met his and were warmed by the affection she found there. She basked in it for a moment, then gave a soft sigh.. "So are you going to tell me?"

All of a sudden, Mulder looked like a ten-year-old who'd just been told that his father wouldn't be home for his birthday. Again.

"Later, Scully? I... need a little time to think."

He looked so dispirited that she didn't have the heart to press him. "Okay, Mulder." Their hands reluctantly disentangled, and Scully pushed his cup toward him. "Now drink up. Like it or not, we have to get to work."

* * *

**Boston Field Office April 12, 1996 10:30 a.m.**

"Mulder!"

Dutton's shout jolted the agent out of his contemplation of the office's water cooler. Water sloshed over the sides of the cup and onto his jacket sleeve--and his partner.

"Hey!" Scully's hand brushed at the stain rapidly making its presence known on her suit jacket.

Mulder turned quickly to face her, his eyes focusing upon the darkening blue splotch just below her right breast. He reached out for her, then thought better of it and returned his hand to his side. "Sorry, Scully."

"Never lost those nerves of steel, did you, Mulder?" The tone was playful and almost soft, in direct contrast to its owner. Mulder was always amazed that a man who could have been voted 'most likely to dismember' could be so gentle a person.

Mulder smiled, wincing. "At least it was just water this time, John."

Dutton gave a matching wince. "He had no sense of humor." The Boston SAC winked at Scully conspiratorially. "He still doesn't."

"You'd better watch it. He's an AD now." Mulder let his gaze roam to Scully's face; chances were she would assume that their "AD" of conversation was Skinner. At her questioning look, he shook his head. She nodded and smiled, relief replacing momentary apprehension. "Scully, this linebacker here is John Dutton." Mulder turned to Dutton. "John, this is my partner, Dana Scully."

Dutton stepped deftly around Mulder and took Scully's extended hand, completely engulfing it within his own. "I've really been looking forward to meeting you, Agent Scully--"

"Dana," Scully broke in, as Dutton released her hand.

Dutton smiled. "Okay. Dana. Anyone who's lasted three years with Spooky here must be worth her weight in gold."

Scully's eyes darted to her partner at the mention of the 'S' word. She figured it was all in the delivery--Mulder was smiling. She made a show of studying him. "I'd say that was a pretty accurate assessment. What do you say, Mulder?"

She watched in astonishment as Mulder actually blushed. He looked down at the floor, then brought his eyes up to meet hers. His voice was very quiet when he spoke. "I've always thought that, Scully."

After a stunned moment, a warm feeling spread through her. She knew he appreciated her, but it was still nice to hear it every once in a while.

"Mulder... Dana. Let's go into my office," Dutton said.

When they had all settled in, Dutton behind his desk, Mulder and Scully in front, Dutton leaned forward and looked intently at Mulder.

"So what do you think? Are you going to solve this one for me?"

Mulder glanced at his partner and sighed. "I don't know, John. Four murders, all ages, races and sexes. Hell, even the method used varies. Are you certain they're all the same guy?"

"We're certain."

Two heads turned as an unwelcome voice drifted through the open door, followed by an even more unwelcome Robert MacNicol. "Starting without me, Chief?" MacNicol smiled, and Dutton returned the grin.

"Bob! No. Come on in. We were just getting started." The SAC's eyes narrowed in confusion. "They told me you went out for a while."

MacNicol shrugged. "I came back." He walked in and took the only other empty chair--next to Mulder. Mulder tried very hard not to react.

"So... Bob, Mulder, Dana... have you met?"

Mulder shifted uncomfortably and looked straight ahead. "We've met."

Dutton raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin when MacNicol clapped him on the shoulder. "Yup. Scully and Mulder here were in earlier. We got the introductions out of the way then."

For the first time since he'd come in, Mulder looked at MacNicol--and nearly lost his breakfast at MacNicol's benevolent face smiling down upon him. What game was MacNicol playing?

"...the plan of action?"

Mulder realized Dutton's question was directed at him. "What?" He smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, John. What did you say?"

"I asked what your plan of action--" Dutton's voice faded and his eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you okay, Mulder? You look like you're a million miles away."

Mulder mentally shook himself and cleared his throat. "I'm fine." He threw a quick glance Scully's way; she picked up on it immediately and came to his rescue.

"We're still trying to catch up on our sleep, sir. We just wrapped up a case yesterday." She leaned back in her chair. "We went for coffee earlier; it's helped somewhat, but we're still playing catch-up."

"I'm afraid that's my fault," Dutton said. "I tried to get you earlier, but your AD said you were both out of town. He tried to buy you a few days leeway once you got back, but we don't *have* a few days. There's going to be another one tonight."

Mulder shot up straight in his seat. "How can you know that?"

"The only way we know it's our guy," MacNicol said. A quick glance to Dutton, a barely imperceptible nod from the SAC, and MacNicol continued. "He keeps to a very strict schedule. Friday night, between midnight and 1 a.m. Every single week for four weeks."

"Have you determined the significance of this timetable?" Mulder asked.

MacNicol's face soured. "If we knew that, we would have caught this guy by now, wouldn't we?" MacNicol threw an accusing glare Mulder's way. Waves of barely-repressed anger radiated from the man; Mulder couldn't quell a shiver.

"Hey, Bob, come on. It's a legitimate question."

At Dutton's mild but insistent tone, the fire in MacNicol's eyes flickered and diminished, but did not extinguish.

"Bob! Hey, Bob! What's the matter with you? You're acting like it's Mulder's fault we haven't caught this guy."

"Maybe it is."

Mulder felt the taut string of his nerves stretch and then snap. This was one of the reasons he'd left VCS. This was why he avoided these kinds of cases. He could make connections where no one else could. He could find evidence where there was no evidence previously. He could write the profile that could catch the killer.

And he always suffered for it. They resented him his ability, resented his intelligence, resented his very existence. Yet they always called him. Always depended on him, on 'Spooky' Mulder to catch their killers. And after he did, they brushed him away--as far and as fast as they could. Until the next 'unsolvable' case.

"That was uncalled for, MacNicol." Scully's voice beside him, strong and protective and demanding apology, drew him out of his stupor. She was right--as usual. He was no wet-behind-the-ears first-year agent. 'Spooky' he might be, but he had the best solve record of any agent--ever.

Mulder stood, and his partner did the same. Shoulder to shoulder, as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times, they turned as one unit and faced Dutton. "We'll be at the Airport Holiday Inn for the next couple of days. If you decide that you need us, call."

Never once glancing at each other, yet in perfect synchronization, they pivoted and walked out.

They were in the outer hallway when Mulder felt the hand on his shoulder. Expecting to find the SAC attached to the arm, he couldn't extricate himself fast enough when he found MacNicol standing there instead.

"Wimping out again, huh, Spooky? You haven't changed much, have you? That big brain of yours never could cope with reality."

Mulder's head whipped up. " _Your_ reality, you mean."

MacNicol sneered. "No. _Your_ reality." He punctuated his words by poking a finger into Mulder's chest. "You ran away in high school, you ran away at Quantico, and you ran away from the VCS." His eyes bored into Mulder. "Well, not this time, Spooky. I want this guy, and you're gonna help me get him. Whether you want to or not."

Mulder was tired. He sighed as that sick feeling from his VCS days began to assert itself. Every time he felt it he hoped that this time would be the last, that after this one they'd leave him alone. But he knew they wouldn't. They couldn't.

He pushed through the door, holding it open for Scully, and gave her a weak smile. When they reached their car, Scully held out her hand. "Why don't I drive? You look like you could use a little time."

Mulder nodded and tried to smile his gratitude, but found he couldn't. He walked around to the passenger side and watched as she unlocked her door, then slipped inside and popped the lock for him. He buckled up and stared at his hands in his lap. "Thanks."

He heard the click of her seat belt, then she turned the key in the ignition. "It's okay, Mulder."

She said nothing more, but that sick feeling began to dissipate. He was still the Bureau's pariah, still an embarrassment to his superiors, still ridiculed by other agents. But now there was a difference.

Now he had Scully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Holiday Inn East Boston, MA April 12, 1996 2:30 p.m.**

"I'm kind of glad we're not staying in the city, Mulder. As pretty as Boston is, I much prefer the peace out here."

Mulder looked out the window and smiled. "Well, technically, we're still in the city, Scully. We're just not downtown."

Scully waved a hand in dismissal. "Whatever. I'm still relieved to be away from all that bustle." She walked over and stood next to him at the window. A lush green marsh spread out before them, the three-deckers beyond only enhancing the view. She looked up at her partner's face; he wasn't seeing any of it.

"Was it always like that for you?" she asked softly.

Mulder took a deep breath. "Yeah. Mr. Popularity, that was me. I could count all my friends on one hand." He made a fist and held it out; she winced at the loneliness enclosed in that clenched hand.

"If you ever have kids, Scully, don't let them be tested as 'gifted.' Don't make them go to school with kids much older than them. In the end it'll only screw up their lives."

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Was it really so bad?"

His back heaved beneath her hand. "Up until seventh grade I was fine. I knew something about me was different but I kept pace with the other kids. After Samantha..." He swallowed. "I forgot... to hold back." His voice turned bitter. "I know they thought they were doing me a favor, but..." He looked down at her, his eyes full of anguish. "Can you imagine what it was like for a twelve-year-old to be suddenly plucked away from his friends and bumped up a grade to a roomful of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds who hated his guts?" His voice lowered to where she had to strain to hear him. "They skipped me two more times until, there I was, a fourteen-year-old senior."

"Is that when you met MacNicol?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He was your basic Big Man on Campus--captain of the football team, GQ looks... and the smartest guy in his class."

"Until you showed up."

"Yeah," he said, softly. "Until I showed up."

"There's more to it than that, though."

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "How'd you guess?" He tried to keep his tone light, but even he wasn't fooled.

She pulled him over to the bed and sat beside him. "What happened?"

Mulder stared at the floor. "He was the older brother of one of my friends. He always bullied me when I went over there. It got worse after Samantha." He glanced at her, then resumed his focus on the rug. "He... Some people were of the opinion that I had killed my sister. Robert MacNicol was one of them."

Scully was appalled. "Oh, Mulder. No."

"He told everyone I did it. All of them," he whispered. "The entire senior class--and most everyone else in the school--thought that I killed Samantha."

"But you were just a kid!"

"It happens, Scully. You know it, and I know it. Kids kill kids."

"But not you. Not Samantha."

"No." He shook his head almost frantically. "But they thought I did."

"Oh, Mulder... That year must have been pure hell for you."

He looked up at her then. When he smiled, it was because he was grateful for her friendship, for having someone like her caring for someone like him. "It was... rough. I hid myself in my books. I won every academic award they had to offer." His gaze drifted downward again. "And that gave my parents something to talk about besides Samantha."

"Couldn't they see what it was doing to you?"

He gave a caustic laugh. "As far as they knew, everything was hunky-dory." A shrug. "Besides, it's not like they even noticed I was alive anymore."

Scully was shocked. "Mulder! I can't believe that."

"It's true," he said very quietly. "When I was home I felt like I didn't exist. The only time my father noticed me was when--" He stopped abruptly. "Never mind."

She laid a hand on his leg and patted it comfortingly. "Okay, Mulder."

The warmest smile she had ever seen lit up his face. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you, Scully?"

She returned the smile. "Oh... once or twice." And that last time made three in one day. What was up with him? Had there never been anyone he could turn to? Was there no one who saw, who heard him? Had he spent his entire life surrounded by people who tolerated him for what he could do, and not what he could be? She thought about his career in VCS. Was it true? Did they drain him of everything he had to give, and then take more? Did they drive him to the very brink of insanity and dare him to cross over?

Scully remembered the John Mostow case, how it almost devoured her partner. If he'd had to endure that for three years--

"Scully? Are you okay?"

"What?"

Mulder was standing in front of her, his mother-hen face in place. "You look like you lost your best friend. Are you okay?"

At that moment, Scully was very close to throwing her arms around Mulder and hugging him for all she was worth. She settled for a friendly pat on the cheek, though, and a few well-chosen but heartfelt words.

"I'm fine, Mulder. And unless you're planning on going somewhere, my best friend's right here."

It wasn't often she could shock Mulder, and even when she did, he could usually arrest his reaction. This time he didn't even try. He felt warmth building, but it wasn't from embarrassment. After the trying day he'd had--after MacNicol and all the rotten memories he'd dredged up--it felt so good to know that someone cared.

Finally, someone cared.

* * *

**Holiday Inn Room 1712 April 12, 1996 10:40 p.m.**

They were expecting the phone call, so he sent Scully to catch a few hours' rest while he waited. He knew how exhausted she was from their last case--her story to Dutton was no fabrication--so he offered to wait while she slept. Scully had agreed without hesitation; she knew, as did he, that the glut of pent-up emotion inside Mulder would guarantee him a sleepless night.

He felt like a ghoul, watching television while someone not too far from where he wielded his remote control was getting himself murdered. It was almost obscene, sitting there, calmly waiting for a human life to be extinguished, all the while pondering the chances of there being something better on a different channel.

He suddenly felt compelled to see Scully, to know that she was safe. Tamping down on the oppressive sense of urgency he felt, he tossed the remote aside and rolled off the bed. Fearful apprehension gripped him as he neared the door dividing their two rooms. Everything slowed; he felt like he was wading through mud. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached for the doorknob; he half expected to find her lying in a pool of her own blood.

As he pushed on her door, a gust of air swirled around him. As cold as death, he thought, shivering and sweating simultaneously.

Her window was open. His fear intensified until he remembered that they were on the seventeenth floor. So far as he could recall, their murderer was not a--human or otherwise--fly.

He hurried to the side of her bed. There was no blood, no crazed killer standing over her with a knife. There was just Scully, peacefully asleep. Before he could stop himself, he reached down and closed his hand over her wrist. The warmth that met his touch nearly knocked him over with relief.

"Mulder?" Scully's voice was heavy with sleep. "Did they call?"

He felt his face flush. "Oh. No." He couldn't tear his eyes from hers though he desperately wanted to. "I was just..." Now that he knew she was safe, he felt ridiculous. "Chalk it up to an overactive imagination." He shrugged and turned away from her. "I just had to know."

"What?" She struggled to a sitting position. "That I wasn't dead?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"Mulder."

Slowly, he twisted back around. She patted the side of the bed, and lowered himself onto the bedspread. He stared at the outline of her legs, still under the covers.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asked.

"Promise me that you'll never die?" he queried, only half in jest.

It hit her then, hard and low, that she was most likely his only real friend in this universe. "Okay," she said. "I promise."

A slow, silly grin spread across his face, and he gazed over at her. He looked elated, and she was more than a little flustered to know that she was the cause. As it had many times since the beginning of their partnership, her heart went out to him.

She simply could not understand why he'd been treated the way he had. Yet wasn't that what made a person? The sum of his life's experiences: ups, downs, wins, losses? She sighed. Mulder had certainly received the lion's share of losses.

He was brilliant. But when you got right down to it, brilliant couldn't protect the people he loved. Brilliant wasn't happy, and brilliant didn't bring back little sisters. For him, brilliant was a curse, a commodity from which others reaped rewards, but which left him with nothing except another notch in his 'spooky' reputation.

Except for her. She loved him for his mind, she loved him for his soul. And she loved him because he was Mulder. He was overbearing and infuriating, and he was sensitive and insightful. He was her friend.

And then she realized that he wasn't the man he was _because_ of the way he'd been treated, but in spite of it.

"Hey," she said, smiling at him. She held out her hand to him.

"Hey," he said, taking her hand. His smile was tentative, uncertain.

"If I can't die, neither can you."

His smile faded, and he looked away. "Okay." His voice was low.

"I mean it, Mulder. No more unnecessary chances, and stop getting yourself beat up all the time."

"I'll try." He was studying their hands.

She knew a 'but' when she didn't hear one. She reached up and brushed her free hand through his hair. "What?" she asked gently.

He looked up and smiled at her, so sad yet with such tenderness, that she felt her heart seize up with fear and anticipation. His hand squeezed hers. "But if you break your promise, so will I."

A million protests ran through her mind: he would still have his work, he would continue to search for his sister--

And that was all. His entire life consisted of the X-Files, his hope that one day he would find Samantha--and her, Scully. She wanted to make him the same pledge, to let him know that he was everything to her, too. Yet she couldn't. She still had her family, and she still had some friends left, and she knew--though it would hurt like hell--that if he was gone she could go on with her life.

But he wouldn't. He didn't. The three months she was missing almost killed him; the next time would.

She felt lucky she didn't feel the same way. And then she wondered why. She knew she loved him and that he was a very important part of her life.

But not _the most important_ part.

That's where the difference lay. For her, the most important people in her life were her family--what was left of them. Her mother, her brothers, their wives and children were a vital part of her life. Mulder still had his mother, and he loved her, she knew, but she also knew that it was a love born more out of duty than emotion. When his mother died, Mulder would grieve, but life would continue. If Scully died--and she shuddered at the power she held over him--she believed him when he said he would die, too.

And though she knew she should, though it went against every belief she held as a physician, she couldn't find it within her heart to tell him otherwise.

"Oh, Mulder..."

"I'm sorry, Scully. That's just the way it is."

She wondered if it would happen to her, and as she looked at him, she realized with a shock that it was only a matter of time.

Soon, very soon, life without Mulder would be unthinkable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Long Wharf Boston, MA April 12, 1996 12:45 a.m.**

Mulder shivered in the chill night air of Boston Harbor. Early April in New England was not a force to trifle with. He looked over at Scully, pleased to note that she'd heeded his advice and dug her winter coat out of mothballs. As she knelt beside the body of a woman, Mulder unobtrusively moved to stand behind her. "What have you got?" he quietly asked the officer at the scene, showing the man his I.D. They moved a few feet away, giving Scully room to work.

"Female, approximate age 33. Looks like she took a blow to the head."

"Who found the body?"

"Patrol car. Officer Davis over there." He pointed to a young woman in blue. "Her first night, too." He shook his head. "What a way to begin a career."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed. "Was she riding alone?"

The officer nodded. "Cutbacks, you know. This part of the city's not too bad, though."

Mulder thought he must have heard wrong. "Excuse me?"

"I said this isn't a bad location for a beat. Especially at night." At Mulder's confusion, he elaborated. "No tourists."

"But what about the murders? This is the fifth one in five weeks."

The cop shook his head. "I'll bet it ain't."

"What makes you say that?" The man had Mulder's full attention now.

"The other four murders were all in the North End." He pointed down the street. "Over there."

"And..." Mulder prodded impatiently. "Isn't that where we are?"

"Uh, uh." The officer shook his head. "This is the waterfront. That..." He stretched his arm toward the thickly-settled community in the distance. "...is the North End. Big difference if you live here."

"And I'm sure our killer knows it, too," Mulder said almost to himself. "Thanks," he said to the officer, and started toward Scully. His gaze drifted down to the corpse, and he sucked in a breath. He looked quickly at Scully. God, what a shock to his system. The victim was young, well-dressed, and petite.

He didn't realize he'd been staring until he felt a hand on his arm. "Are you okay, Mulder?"

"What color's her hair, Scully?"

For a moment his partner looked confused, then she sighed; he noted that she didn't need to take another look to give him an answer. "It's red."

His eyes met hers, and he nodded, then he slowly walked away and stared out at the ocean. A stiff breeze toyed with his hair and salt spray stung his eyes, and he shivered. He felt cold all over.

"Mulder?"

Her hand alit briefly on his back. She stood beside him, and he was grateful that he didn't have to make eye contact.

"I do the same thing," she said. "Worry about you. Especially on a case like this." He looked at her then; her expression was one of disquiet. "But the fear I feel isn't for your physical well-being, Mulder. And it's not an unjustified fear--or an unfulfilled one. I've watched you fall apart before my eyes, watched you dragged deeper and deeper into those minds. And I get scared because I can't pull you out."

She was right, of course. Yet what she feared most was what made him so coveted by the VCS. And was the reason he'd left. "I'm sorry, Scully. I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be here."

"But you are, and you're going to get into his head, aren't you?" She stepped up close to him and took hold of his arm, almost possessively. She squeezed his arm, then let go. "Come on. We'd better get back. MacNicol and Dutton just arrived."

He nodded. "Okay."

Dutton spotted them and hurried over to meet them, MacNicol trailing behind. "Thank God you're still here," the SAC said to Mulder.

"Why? What's the matter?" Scully asked, looking sharply at Mulder, then at Dutton.

"This isn't our guy, is it?"

Dutton's mouth dropped open. "Mulder, you never cease to amaze me."

"How the hell did you know that? Nobody, not even Spooky Mulder, is *that* good." MacNicol didn't bother to hide his hostility.

"Oh, I _am_ that good, MacNicol," he replied, "but in this case I had a little help from the Boston P.D. in the person of an officer who's up on his neighborhoods."

Scully gave him The Look, and he hastened to explain about the difference between the North End and the Waterfront.

"We preserved the crime scene for you," Dutton told him. Then he added quickly, "Both of you."

Even though he explained how he'd gotten the information, Dutton still looked edgy. Mulder sighed. He had that effect on people, even ones he considered friends. "Okay." He looked at Scully. "All finished here?"

She nodded. "I can't tell anything more without an autopsy. The blow to the head may be the cause of death, or--" She stopped suddenly, walked over to the body, and knelt beside it.

"What did you remember?" Mulder was right by her side.

"There's a small puncture wound on her finger. I thought it was from a blood test, but..." She lifted the woman's right hand and peered intently at the finger. "Mulder, hand me her purse."

He took out a latex glove and used it to remove the expensive-looking pocketbook from the plastic evidence bag. Holding it by the strap, he handed it to his gloved partner.

She rummaged around inside for a few seconds, then pulled out a small black case. After the slightest of hesitations, she snapped it open. "Jesus..." she breathed.

"What?"

She held it out for his inspection. "It's an allergy kit. I'll bet she didn't even feel the sting."

"Jesus, Scully. You're telling me that a bee killed this woman?" Although he knew that it was very possible, he still found it hard to fathom.

"She had the antidote right here." Scully gazed up at him. "This woman shouldn't be dead, Mulder," she said softly, rising to her feet. She signaled to one of the officers and filled him in on her theory, handing over the purse and the kit as she did so. The man looked a little sick, and Scully couldn't blame him.

She sensed Mulder standing behind her even before he touched her on the shoulder. "Come on. Dutton and MacNicol are waiting."

As they approached, Dutton waved to another agent and started toward the man. "Mulder... Dana... I want you to ride with us. I'll have someone drop your car off at HQ." He detoured to Mulder, and Mulder surrendered their car keys to him. "Be right back," he called, heading off at a trot.

MacNicol was standing by the car, holding the back door open. Mulder hesitated only a fraction of a second before heading for it.

"Uh, uh." MacNicol blocked his way with an arm across the doorway.

The hairs on the back of Mulder's neck bristled, and he clenched his jaw.

"In front. Dutton wants to talk to you."

Mulder didn't move. "He can talk to me just as well from here."

MacNicol shrugged, then stood aside. "Have it your way, Spooky."

He caught the glare Scully directed at MacNicol, and met her eyes a little self-consciously as he climbed in beside her. They sat in silence, waiting for Dutton to join them. Mulder was beginning to feel the effects of the long day and leaned his head back; Scully looked over at him, and he gave her a weary smile.

"Hey, Dana, how'd you come up with that bee sting conjecture so fast?" Dutton climbed into the car and started the engine. "Not too many--hell, I don't know of _any_ \--coroners who would have caught that without a more in-depth examination." The SAC threw a glance over his shoulder at Mulder. "I thought _he_ was supposed to be the spooky one."

Mulder looked startled and a little uncomfortable; Scully patted his arm tenderly and felt his tension ease. "Yeah, well... he has this way of rubbing off on you. And, you know, I've tried but it just won't come out."

A loud guffaw ricocheted off the windshield. "Well, I can believe it. Coming up with that cause of death without an autopsy gave the P.D. the willies."

Scully was beginning to feel uneasy. What was the big deal? So she put two and two together and came up with twenty-two instead of four. If it solved the case and saved a little work, why question her method?

"Guess you _have_ been hanging out with Spooky for too long." MacNicol threw a contemptuous look Mulder's way before settling his gaze on the female agent. "You should have paid more attention at Quantico, Dana. You might have learned the dangers of getting too close to Spooky Mulder."

She felt Mulder go utterly still beside her. Her stomach fluttered at what he must have gone through there, at what he was going through now. How dare MacNicol speak as if Mulder wasn't sitting right there beside her! She turned her head toward her partner; when he finally, reluctantly, met her eyes, she allowed her affection for him to shine through. Then she focused her attention on MacNicol, and her gaze hardened.

"Maybe if _you'd_ paid more attention, you wouldn't have needed 'Spooky' Mulder to come and solve your case for you."

MacNicol sneered. "Oh, yeah. He's been simply dazzling so far."

"We haven't even been here a day yet, we haven't seen any of the crime scenes..." Scully settled back in her seat and sighed. "He'll dazzle you tomorrow." Dutton pulled the car out into the late-night traffic, and she stifled a yawn. "Or maybe later tonight if you're lucky."

MacNicol snapped off his seat belt and turned all the way around in his seat to face her. He glared at Mulder. "Ever wonder how he does it? Ever wonder how he knows--not guesses-- _knows_ \--who and why and how?" MacNicol shook his head. "No sane person should be able to do what he does. Normal people just don't go around pretending to be serial killers."

"They do if it's their job." Mulder's voice was very quiet. "They do if it's the only way to stop those people. They do because no one will let them stop doing it."

MacNicol stared at Mulder, and for a brief moment, Scully thought she detected a glimmer of pity in his eyes. Then he blinked and she saw only contempt. "You should have thought of that before you started showing up everyone else at Quantico." He turned back around without giving Mulder a second glance.

"Oh, it's his fault because the rest of you couldn't keep pace?" Scully rejoined.

MacNicol's head snapped around. "Keep pace? You can't keep pace with a freak."

"He's not a freak." Scully covered Mulder's cold hand with her warm one.

"Oh, yeah. Look who's talking, Miss I-can-determine-the-cause-of-death-without-an-autopsy."

Scully felt her face flush. Why did she feel ashamed because she'd made a connection no one else would have made?

"All right, Bob. I think that's enough." Dutton's soft voice made all three jump. MacNicol turned back around, his posture stiff and unyielding.

Mulder loosened his hand from Scully's death grip. "Are you okay?" he whispered so that only she could hear.

Her eyes were bright when she looked up at him. "It doesn't go away, does it, Mulder?"

He stared into her eyes and contemplated lying to her, telling her that, yes, after each taunt, the pain lessens, the mind numbs, and words are just words. He couldn't.

"No," he said. "It never goes away."

* * *

**House on Salem Street North End of Boston April 13, 1996 1:45 a.m.**

There was nothing particularly gruesome about the murder scene, if you discounted the dead man with the knife between the shoulder blades. He was lying on the floor of a neat and tidy kitchen in a neat and tidy apartment on a neat and tidy street. There were no blood-covered walls, no satanic writings, no missing body parts. It gave Scully the shivers.

She stood up from the body and was surprised to find Mulder behind her, helping her up. "I thought you'd be scouring the walls or something, finding those details that everyone else overlooks." Scully was quite recovered from her confrontation with MacNicol, and eager to atone for what she considered a crack in her makeup--yet not at the expense of her partner's feelings. Her tone was teasing, but gentle.

He shrugged. "Nothing much to see. Someone broke in and killed this guy."

"So you don't think it's related?"

"Except for the fact that it occurred here and it occurred when it did, I'd have to say no. In fact, the very ordinariness of the murders--if one can ever call murder ordinary--is all that links them together, really."

Scully cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's almost as if it were a spur-of-the-moment thing. As if the killer was here, the victim walked in, and the killer thought, 'Oh! I have to kill this person. What's the easiest way to do it?' And then did. By whatever method was most convenient."

"So what's the hypothesis for this one?"

"He was probably sitting in that chair, so our boy had to come from behind. The quickest--and safest--way was to go for the back."

"That's interesting, Mulder." Dutton came up beside him. "Any other ideas?"

"A few, but I'd like to see the other crime scenes first."

"Tomorrow morning?"

Mulder noticed his partner trying to stifle a yawn. "Eleven okay?" he asked Dutton.

"Eleven's good. Come by my office, and I'll have someone take you."

Mulder nodded. "Okay." He looked around at the gradually-thinning crowd. "Can we get a ride to our car? Scully's bushed, and I know I could use a few z's."

"Come on; I'll take you." Dutton caught MacNicol's eye. "I'm taking off now, Bob. Going to drop off Mulder and Dana, then I'm going home. See you in a few hours."

MacNicol gave a wave in response. He shot an accusing stare at Mulder; the agent almost staggered under the force of the hostility aimed at him. He turned away and started for the door, ushering Scully ahead of him with a hand on her back.

When they got to the car, Scully insisted that Mulder sit in the front with his friend; they could catch up, and she could close her eyes without feeling like she was being impolite.

"So tell me, Mulder..." Dutton had successfully navigated them out of the narrow streets of the North End and now the signs indicated that they were heading toward something called Haymarket Square. Scully felt herself nodding off. "What's the story with you and MacNicol? You were at Quantico together?"

"Uh, huh," Mulder said, noncommitally. Scully recognized the I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it tone of his voice but she doubted that Dutton would. She opened her eyes and focused them sleepily on her partner.

"So? What happened? What'd you do to piss him off so royally?"

"John..." Mulder's voice held a plea that Scully wouldn't have been able to ignore.

"I want to know, Mulder. Bob MacNicol is one of my best agents. So I'll ask you again: what's the story with you and him?" Dutton's tone was mild, but Scully heard the edge in it.

"We... I was kind of young. To be at Quantico. Everyone was twenty-six, twenty-seven--I was twenty-two."

"Twenty-two? You had a psych degree at twenty-two? What were you, one of those child prodigies or something like that?"

"Yeah," Mulder said softly. "Something like that."

"So..." Dutton would not be put off.

"So I didn't fit in. I was too young and I was too smart."

"And that's it? That's what pissed him off?"

"That... and the fact that I graduated high school the same year he did. From the same school."

Dutton stared at Mulder, horrified realization etched into his features. "You're the one," he said, almost reverently.

"What are you talking about?" Mulder sounded like he was afraid of the answer, and Scully's attention climbed up a notch.

"He was second-best at everything--because you were first." The SAC shook his head. "Christ, Mulder, you were the proverbial millstone around his neck."

Mulder glared at Dutton. "Yeah... life was really tough for him," he said, sarcastically.

"You know, Mulder, did you ever think that it just might be that attitude of yours? Maybe you'd have had an easier time of it if you weren't so damned acerbic."

"No." Scully spoke quietly but with determination. "I was there, Dutton. After you..." She nodded to her partner. "...After him. I heard the stories; I felt the feeling." She felt her face redden at this admission. "They were jealous of him. They were scared of him."

"Go on," Dutton prodded.

Scully sighed. "He doesn't need to hear this, Dutton."

Dutton looked at Mulder, and Scully just _knew_ that he would make her continue. When it came right down to it, Mulder had as much male ego as any of them. Back down from a challenge? One male admit to another that he didn't want to be hurt? Not bloody likely.

"I really don't want to hear this, John."

Scully gaped at her partner in astonishment. He appeared calm and unaffected, but his breathing was deeper than it normally was, and he was staring out the window, unseeing. Sympathy washed over her and she sat perfectly still, aching to offer him a touch, some sign of comfort.

"Let me tell you a little story, Mulder." Dutton was speaking again. "Once upon a time we had this kid working VCS. Smart kid. Genius, actually. Cocky as hell."

Mulder stiffened; Scully closed her eyes and tried not to listen.

"Well, this kid comes to work on this case with a group of guys who've been doing this job for years, and he tries to tell us that we're going about it all wrong. Presumptuous son of a bitch. But damn it all if he wasn't right."

Mulder shifted; she could tell, even with her eyes closed, that he was uncomfortable with where this was leading.

"He stayed with us for a few years... Damn, he was good! We got used to him, used to his idiosyncrasies, his habits... but nobody really knew _him_. Hell, they couldn't stand the guy. He was abrasive, he was abrupt, and he was so damned sure of himself. We weren't happy when he left, but we weren't sorry to see him go."

The car came to a halt, and Scully opened her eyes. They were in the parking lot behind the field office.

Dutton was staring at Mulder. "I worked with that guy for three years, and I never knew him. I've been working with Bob MacNicol for two. I've had him to my home, and I've been to his. We're friends. _Friends_ , Mulder. He's a damned fine agent--maybe not gifted like you, but then who is? Who can compete with an intellect the size of Manhattan? Not me." He turned to Scully. "Not you." His glare hardened. "And not Bob MacNicol.

"So don't make _him_..." The SAC nodded Mulder's way. "...out to be the completely innocent victim in this." He turned back to Mulder, and his gaze softened. "I'll talk to MacNicol. Tell him to ease up. You're not a bad guy, Mulder; you never were." He took a breath. "In any case, you don't deserve the kind of treatment you've received here." He glanced back at Scully. "And I'm glad you finally found a friend. Lord knows, you need one."

Mulder exited the car without a word. Scully muttered a quick, "Thanks for the lift," and almost collided with her partner as she hastened out the door. She gasped and looked at him, surprised to find him waiting for her.

"It's late," he said quietly.

She nodded her thanks, and they walked to the car in silence. As he lowered himself wearily into the driver's seat, she touched him lightly on his arm. "Do you want me to drive?" she asked.

He gave her a rueful smile. "For once I think we're safer with me. You look like you might fall asleep at the wheel."

"No, I'm okay," she said around a yawn.

He smiled at her. "I'll drive," he said softly. "Close your eyes."

She did, and a second later Mulder was gently shaking her awake. "Mmnn, what? Are we there?"

"We're there," she heard him say, and then a blast of frigid Atlantic wind hit her; she huddled into the seat until she was assailed from the other side.

"Come on, Scully. You don't really want to sleep out here in the car, do you?" A hand took hold of her elbow and began tugging her out.

"No," she said, shivering. "Not since you let all that cold air in." She let him help her out and didn't protest when he snaked an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. "Mmm. Where'd you get all that body heat, Mulder?" She was very tempted to climb inside his coat with him.

"I've been saving it for just this occasion," he said, and she didn't detect any trace of laughter in his voice. "Come on." He closed her door and locked the car, and they walked toward the entrance. When he released her to open the door, she mourned the loss of his warmth even as they entered the heated lobby.

Scully glanced at the clock. "Three fifteen," she groaned, as they waited for the elevator. "What time did you say we had to meet Dutton tomor-- today. What time are we supposed to meet him?"

A bell dinged, and Mulder gently guided her toward the opening doors. "Eleven. That should give you enough sleep, shouldn't it?"

"Uh, huh," she said, yawning. "God, I'm beat."

Mulder leaned against the wall as the elevator climbed slowly toward their floor. "Me, too. I may not even need the TV tonight."

She fixed him with a gaze. "Uh, huh."

He laughed softly. "Okay. Point taken." Then his voice sobered. "I can't sleep without my security blanket anyway."

The doors opened as they arrived at their floor. They exited wearily and proceeded down what had suddenly become a long, long corridor. Finally they reached their connecting rooms; Scully watched as Mulder inserted his key and opened the door to his room. She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him from going inside.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

He gave her a half-hearted smile. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "It's okay. I'm used to it."

"You know I'm here if..."

"I know." The smile reached his eyes this time. "Good night, Scully."

She inserted her key and pushed open the door. "Good night, Mulder. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"I will."

"Mulder?"

He backed out of his door and looked at her. "Yeah?"

"At Quantico? You were the best they ever had. The best they'll ever have."

He glanced down at his shoes and then an embarrassed but pleased smile pulled at his lips. "Good night, Scully." The look he gave her could have melted a glacier.

"Good night, Mulder."

She went into her room and shrugged out of her suddenly stifling coat. Only Mulder could transmit body heat by osmosis.


	4. Chapter 4

**House on Hanover Street North End of Boston April 13, 1996 12:00 p.m.**

They were at the third crime scene when she noticed.

Mulder was sitting at the victim's desk, flipping through a battered high school yearbook. There was nothing particularly telling about his actions; in fact, just two minutes before he looked bored with the whole procedure. But Scully recognized the gleam in his eye, and a chill ran through her.

"What did you find?" she asked quietly, sidling up beside him.

"Yearbook." He held his place with a finger and closed it to show her the cover. "Class of '70."

"Is there a connection?"

He hesitated before answering. "I'm not sure."

"But you think so."

He gazed up at her then, his expression one of resignation and dread, and he nodded.

A cold lump settled in her stomach. "Mulder, let me work with you on this. When you get trapped inside his head, let me be there to pull you back out. Don't lock yourself away from me, and--God dammit!--don't run off and leave me wondering if you're dead somewhere."

"Scully..."

"Promise me, Mulder. Promise me, or we're leaving right now. You can turn over what you have so far and then we're out of here. We're on the next plane back to D.C."

"Scully, we can't leave," he said calmly.

"I won't sacrifice you to this," she told him. "I'm not going to let happen to you what happened to Bill Patterson." She repressed a shudder as she thought about the BSU investigator who had gotten so far into a killer's mind that he couldn't get out--and had become a killer himself.

His eyes shifted away from her, down to the traitorous piece of evidence that she knew he was bound to find but that she'd secretly hoped he'd never come across. "I'm going to try very hard not to let that happen, Scully," he said quietly.

She laid what she hoped was an encouraging, and at the same time, comforting, hand over his. "Me, too."

"Well, isn't this cozy. I hope I'm disturbing you." MacNicol's caustic tone effectively shattered the only moment of peace she was likely to experience on this case.

Her hand lingered a second longer, and then she slid it off to rest next to Mulder's on the book. "Mulder found something."

The AIC's demeanor immediately changed. Jealousy, revulsion and desperate hunger warred with each other on his face. They were emotions she was quite accustomed to seeing in colleagues in conjunction with her partner, and they sickened her each and every time she saw them.

"What have you got, Spooky?" MacNicol gritted his teeth as if against something distasteful. "Sorry. ...Mulder."

Mulder scarcely reacted, but she noticed it. She didn't care how much and how often he told her. It did bother him.

"I'm not really sure yet," he said, "but the surnames of all the victims are in this yearbook."

"Surnames?" The significance of 'surnames' over 'names' did not escape the AIC's attention. "They're not a complete match?"

"No, but--"

"Jesus, Spooky! I thought you were supposed to be so good. What the hell does that prove? Look at the size of that book! It's like saying they're all in the goddamned phone book!"

"The ethnic diversity of the names--"

"Can be found in every school in Boston!" MacNicol turned away, clearly disgusted. He stalked a few paces toward the door, then stopped. "If you're through here, we still have one more crime scene to see."

"Since you consider it of no consequence, you won't mind if I take this, will you?" Mulder held the book loosely in his hands.

MacNicol faced Mulder and gave an exasperated sigh. "Go ahead." He glanced at Scully, then back to Mulder. "Can we go now?"

"I'm ready," Mulder said. He looked at his partner. "Scully?"

"All set."

Mulder and Scully headed for the car, but MacNicol waved them away. "Number Four's just around the corner."

"This is a pretty small neighborhood," Scully observed.

"Yeah," MacNicol said, nodding. "Used to be all Sicilian, but now it's _the_ place to live, if you're a young urban professional." He made a point of looking at Mulder as he said this, Scully noted. Scully suppressed a smile. For once, MacNicol was right. Her partner looked every bit the personification of the term, "yuppie." He, of course, would vehemently deny it, but--

With a shock she realized that it applied to her, too. She sneaked a peek at MacNicol and had to turn away as the smile finally couldn't be held back any longer. All three of them. They just reeked "yuppie."

Mulder hung back and she slowed, knowing that he wanted to talk to her.

"Dutton's agreed to let you autopsy the bodies," he said.

She nodded her head; she'd been wondering when he was going to get around to that. "Which ones?"

"All of them."

"All? But--"

"This is New England, Scully. The ground's just now beginning to thaw." A slight smile tugged at his lips. "Don't worry. They should be as well preserved as if they were in your own freezer at home."

She raised an eyebrow at this. "Mine's full," she said, and she was rewarded with a wide smile from him, something she hadn't seen much of on this trip. She returned the grin, then a thought occurred to her. "When did you talk to Dutton? This morning?" She looked up at him then, really looked at him. "Did you get any sleep at all, Mulder?"

His gaze drifted away from hers, and she had her answer even before he voiced it. "I tried," he said quietly.

She sighed. They'd gone this route before; no amount of lecturing would induce him to sleep when he was so keyed. And last night had been especially harrowing for him, although he'd never admit it. "When are the autopsies scheduled?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning." She met his gaze when it returned to her. "We'll finish this last site, then I want you to get some rest. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

"What about you? What are you going to be doing?"

He raised the yearbook a couple of inches. "Probably check out a few names in here."

She nodded. "What about the rest of today? We'll be through in about a half hour. Do you want to check any out this afternoon?"

He gave her a look of incredulity. "I haven't even had time to study this, Scully."

She gave him her best 'Oh, please, Mulder' look. "You've been studying it ever since you found it."

He looked down at the closed book, the one he hadn't opened since they left the crime scene five minutes ago. The one he'd seen for a total of maybe three minutes. Long enough to memorize any pages he'd seen. He looked up at her and sighed. "All right... guilty. But I haven't come up with anything yet." His hand touched her lightly on the back, gently guiding her around a boisterous group of grey-suited businessmen. "How about we grab some lunch after this last one and then head back to the hotel?"

"Sounds good." Scully felt a surge of sympathy for him. Normally they would have returned to the field office and commandeered an empty conference room, maybe confer with other agents, but the Boston office wasn't exactly comfortable for her partner. Besides the ever-antagonistic MacNicol, there was--probably far worse--John Dutton, a man Mulder had considered a friend. It still hurt every time she thought about last night's disclosures.

Mulder's smile faded as he held her eyes. He was thinking about it, too. "Scully..."

She held his gaze and waited.

He looked down at the ground then met her gaze again, almost shyly. "Thanks," he said.

"As the song says, Mulder..."

He squinted in confusion.

"Dionne, Gladys, Elton, and Stevie."

His head nodded in understanding. Dutton was right about one thing: Scully. Through thick and thin, good times and bad.

That's what friends are for.

* * *

**Rental car April 13, 1996 5:30 p.m.**

Mulder sighed deeply and opened his eyes. Then blinked.

The ocean?

He lifted his head from where it had been resting on his shoulder and moaned loudly as the muscles protested.

"Sorry about the accommodations," a slightly amused voice apologized.

Pain stabbed through his neck as he tried to swivel his head to face her. He quickly clamped a hand on the sore spot and turned his entire body--including an unyielding neck--toward her. "Where are we?" His eyes swept over the vast expanse of ice blue as his hand massaged the kinks out of his neck.

"Revere Beach." She folded down a corner of the book she'd been reading. "At least that's what the signs said."

"What are we doing here?" His back spasmed and he gasped; he straightened it as well as he could in the small space of the passenger seat.

"You fell asleep."

He stared at her a second. "I've fallen asleep before." He took in the expanse of mostly deserted waterfront. "You've never taken me to a beach."

She shrugged. "So sue me. It was a nice day. My partner fell asleep, and I knew if I took him back to the hotel, he'd wake up and wouldn't go back to sleep. So I kept on going and ended up here." She glanced at her watch. "You got four hours in."

"Jesus. No wonder my neck feels like I spent three days rubber-necking at the women's mud wrestling championships." A sheepish smile crawled onto his face. "If there was such a thing."

She snorted. "Yeah, right, Mulder. You probably have season tickets."

His eyes became dreamlike, and he sighed dramatically. "If only."

Suddenly, he arched his back and groaned. "I've got to get out of here; I need to stand up." He snapped the car handle, pushed the door open and scrambled out. He could feel the muscles in his back and neck cracking as he stretched.

"Are you okay?" Scully sounded both amused and concerned.

He rolled his head around on his shoulders and rubbed the back of his hand along his slowly-uncramping back. "Yeah..." A long, low groan, almost a growl, escaped his lips. "I'm a little stiff, that's all."

"How about we walk out those kinks? There's about an hour of sunlight left."

He smiled at her in surprise. "A walk? You and me? On a beach? At sunset?" He grabbed the skin on the back of his hand and squeezed it between his fingers. "Hmm. Nothing. I must still be asleep." He gave her what he hoped was his most charming smile. "Shall we?"

She locked the car and started down the sidewalk toward an opening in the sea wall. Her partner took a step, then lurched forward, grabbing desperately for the car.

She reached him in three long strides. "What's wrong?"

"Leg's asleep," he gasped. "Pins and needles." He leaned back against the door and closed his eyes.

"Was it a mistake?"

He blinked his eyes open in confusion. "What?"

"Letting you sleep in the car for so long. Maybe it wasn't such a good--"

"Oh, no." He walked over to her, rubbing the last of the prickly feeling out of his leg. "We both know I needed the sleep. Besides, I get to fulfill one of my fantasies." He put on what he hoped was his silliest grin--and well-practiced smokescreen. They stepped through an opening onto the sand.

"Oh, right," she said, rolling her eyes. "Every man's fondest desire: a stroll on the beach with the ice queen."

"At sunset," he added, smiling. Then he turned serious. "You're no ice queen, Scully," he said softly. "You must realize how many guys feel the same way."

"Please, Mulder. I _am_ a realist, you know."

"And you're wrong."

"Yeah, all right. Now can we drop it?"

He sighed to himself. What happened to that spirited young woman he'd laughed with in the rain on their first case? All those years ago.

"Sure, Scully." He let his gaze drift down to the sand, then back up to her eyes. They were hard and cold. He felt for her then, at what it must be like to go through a career as 'Mrs. Spooky.' He smiled an apology at her, and her gaze softened.

"How's your back?" she asked.

He felt like a slowly-unfolding pretzel; he was spasming in places he didn't even know he had. "Coming along," he answered noncommittally, then stiffened when a sharp pain shot up his spine.

"So I see," she said dryly. Then her face clouded. "Maybe we should go back so you can lie down."

"No need, Scully. I can lie down later." His eyes met hers. "I want to walk on a beach right now. With you."

Her brows raised in surprise, and she smiled. "At sunset."

* * *

**On the beach April 13, 1996 6 p.m.**

Mulder never appreciated a chilly New England April more than he did at that moment.

"Better?" he asked. His coat was open, and Scully was tucked snugly inside. She shivered, and Mulder instinctively pulled her a little closer.

"I feel silly."

"But warm," he returned.

"Aren't you cold?"

He shook his head.

She burrowed in deeper as the wind picked up; Mulder pulled his coat tighter around them as a shudder ran through him. "You _are_ cold," Scully scolded. "Let me get out so you can button up." She started to pull away, but he held fast.

"I'm not cold, Scully."

"You're shivering."

"Trust me. It's not from the cold."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really." She tilted her head, amused at his discomfort. "What then?"

"Oh, you know... Man. Woman. Beach. Wind. Cold. Coat. Close." He sighed shakily. "Very close."

"Well, remember this: Scully. Mulder. FBI. Partners." She squeezed him to her. "Friends."

He sighed, a mixture of disappointment and contentment. "Friends."

"Do you regret it?" she asked quietly.

"Our friendship?"

She nodded. "And our partnership. If it weren't for this partner thing--"

"I would never have sought you out, Scully. Never gotten to know you." His voice faded, and she had to strain to hear him. "And you would have given 'Spooky' Mulder a wide berth." He touched a hand gently to her hair. "I wouldn't see you every day. I wouldn't be able to talk to you. I wouldn't even know you."

"So I take it that's a 'no?'"

He laughed. "That's a 'no.' But afterwards, Scully... after we met..."

"That's an even bigger 'no.'" She sighed. "But I know what you mean, Mulder. I do know what you mean."

"It's hard sometimes, isn't it? Sometimes it's so overwhelming--" He stopped; this was one of those times.

She sighed deeply and hugged him inside his coat. "Tell me about it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Autopsy Room Boston City Hospital April 14, 1996 2:30 p.m.**

"How's it coming?"

She jumped, and the scalpel she'd been holding slipped from her fingers into the open body cavity.

"Uck," he said. "Sorry about that." He winced in disgust from the moment she plunged her hand into the chest until she extracted the bloody, viscera-covered surgical instrument. He averted his eyes. "Well, at least we know who has the strong stomach in this partnership."

She tossed the used scalpel onto the tray with the other soiled instruments. "Oh, right. Like this is a revelation."

He smiled and turned back to her. "Blood and guts aside, I came to take you away from all this."

She picked up immediately on the barely-repressed excitement in his voice. "Did you find something?"

His face turned serious. "I think so."

"What?"

"I'll tell you over lunch. Come on. They tell me you've been at it for seven hours without a break."

She pulled off the gloves and gown and threw them in the medical waste bin, then washed and dried her hands. "Okay. It's not like I'm having any luck anyway."

"Pretty cut and dry, huh?"

"Don't I wish."

He looked at her, amused. "Why, Scully, I thought you enjoyed poking around people's insides."

She put a hand to her lower back and kneaded it, trying to work out the kinks. "Yeah, one at a time. Not five at a stretch."

"How many have you done?" he asked quietly.

"Three." She smiled bleakly. "Past the halfway point."

She started toward the door, and he grabbed her coat and followed. "Well, I don't think you'll have to do the others."

Her expression was both hopeful and suspicious. She accepted the coat from him with a nod. "Why?"

Her arm caught in the lining, and he helped her free herself. "Because I don't think there are any clues to be found on the bodies. Because I don't think this is a random serial killing after all. I think it's premeditated."

"Then one person knows all these people? What's the link?"

He hesitated. "There's the rub. You see--"

"Hey, Mulder!"

He spun around toward the voice. MacNicol was striding toward them. "Great," he muttered.

"Chin up, partner. Grin and bear it."

It was just about the last thing he expected from his too-serious partner, and he grinned at her. You and me, kid, against the world.

"Did Scully find anything in the autopsies?" MacNicol asked Mulder.

"She's standing right here. Why don't you ask her?"

"I'm asking you."

Mulder shrugged. "I didn't do the autopsies."

MacNicol's face began to turn red. "Listen, Spooky, you're on this case because _I_ asked for you."

Mulder stared at him blandly. "I suppose you want me to thank you?"

"What I _want_ and what I _expect_ is for you to conduct yourself like the professional you purport to be. I _expect_ to be kept informed of any new evidence you discover."

"And you will--as soon as we have some to give you."

It was slipped in there almost unnoticed, certainly by the man facing them, but Scully caught the 'we' instead of 'I.' Mulder could be exasperating at times, he could sorely test her oath to save lives, not take them, but he always treated her as an equal.

"There's nothing on the bodies," she said, breaking the tension.

"You're finished? All five?" MacNicol gaped in astonishment.

Scully shook her head. "Three, but--"

"Well, get in there and do the rest! You said you were 'the best damned forensic pathologist' I would find, so get in there and strut your stuff!" He sneered at her. "Or are you all talk?" His eyes darted to Mulder and then back to her. "Like him."

"There's no need," Mulder said quietly. "There's nothing to be found on the bodies."

"How do you know? What did you find?" The unexpected voice behind him caused Mulder to jump. "Sorry," Dutton said, joining up with the group. He gestured toward the administration office down the hall. "Paperwork. As if I don't have enough in my own office."

Mulder smiled tightly. "I have a theory, but it still needs to be stitched together. I want to discuss it with Scully first."

"Discuss it with me." MacNicol again.

Mulder shook his head. "Not right now."

"Listen, Mulder--"

"No, _you_ listen, MacNicol. I've had just about all I'm going to take from you. I'm not some kid you can bully around any more. I took it back then because I had no choice. You were a lot older and a hell of a lot bigger than I was." A small voice told Mulder that MacNicol _still was_ a hell of a lot bigger than he was, but Mulder ignored it; he glared up at the man who had a good four inches on him. "When we have something for you, we'll let you know."

"Does she know you killed her?"

"What?" Mulder stopped breathing.

"Your sister. Does your pretty little partner know you killed her?"

"That's enough, Bob." Three surprised faces turned to Dutton.

"John, do you know what he--"

"I said, that's enough, Bob," the SAC snapped. "I am familiar with the circumstances concerning the disappearance of Agent Mulder's sister."

Mulder felt like was about to suffocate; he mumbled an apology to Scully and walked briskly toward the exit.

She directed a venomous glare at MacNicol and followed after her partner. Her hand was on the outside door handle when Dutton's voice stopped her; she reluctantly released her hold and turned to face him. She was relieved to see that MacNicol was nowhere in sight.

"Dana... a minute, please? The autopsies?"

She glanced anxiously at the retreating form of her partner. "I've logged the results of the three I completed. I found no evidence other than what was already known." She shrugged. "I'll have to let you know about the remaining two. Mulder seems to think they're not necessary, and his instincts are usually good."

"Did he tell you what he has?" the SAC asked quietly.

She shook her head. "We're going to discuss it at lunch." She looked toward where their car was parked. "If he has an appetite left."

Dutton had the good grace to look ashamed for his agent's behavior. "We need him on this, Dana. We need what only Spooky Mulder can do."

"You mean get inside your killer's head? Drive himself so far over the edge that he might never get back out? Is that what you need?"

"Unfortunately, yes. That's exactly what we need."

Scully glared at him, and took a deep breath, but Dutton's soft voice stopped her before she could get a word out.

"I'm not unsympathetic to Mulder's plight, Agent Scully. I saw what VCS did to him, and I understand why he had to get out. But he's the only one who's come up with even an inkling of a clue, and we _do_ need him."

"I won't sacrifice him to this, Dutton."

The SAC smiled sadly. "I don't expect you to. In fact, I suspect you're the reason he's together now at all."

"Mulder's a lot stronger than he looks."

"But you're the glue. You keep him together."

She sighed. "We keep each other together. It's called 'being partners.'"

Dutton nodded. "Okay, Dana. But don't forget I knew him before. He's had other partners. None have even come close to what I've seen between the two of you."

She felt a blush creep over her face. A hospital worker pushed through the door, and Scully seized it. "I'll let you know when we have something solid." Then she made her escape.

She didn't notice it was raining until she was halfway to the car.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rental car April 14, 1996 2:45 p.m.**

"So where are you taking me to eat?"

Scully's voice was shaking, and Mulder looked at her for the first time since she got in the car. "What happened to you?" He pulled out of the parking lot into the late afternoon Boston traffic.

"Have you wondered why your windshield wipers are on?" She stared at him accusingly. "Why aren't you wet?"

"Don't you know?" he said bitterly. "Rain can't land on a spook." They stopped for a red light, and he studied her: hair dripping, coat unbuttoned, and the entire front of her suit dark with water. He sighed. "I'm sorry." He moved his eyes up to meet hers. "It wasn't raining when I went out."

She nodded, studying him. MacNicol's accusation had gotten to him; his reaction and comment to her had proven that. But Mulder was a veteran target of belligerent co-workers. Already the last traces of anger were fading from his demeanor. "You okay?" she asked, hugging her arms.

"Better than you," he said, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Mulder..."

"I'm fine, Scully," he said softly.

She tried, but couldn't stop her shivering. "Damn," she swore.

He frowned. "I'm taking you back to the hotel."

She looked at him questioningly.

"So you can change."

"I look that bad, huh?"

"Frankly, Scully?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his eyes. "Yes." The traffic light changed and he inched the car forward.

"Thanks, Mulder. If there's one thing I can count on from you, it's that brutal honesty."

"Would you want me to lie to you?"

"Sometimes? Yes."

He tossed her a quick glance, then took a couple of breaths. "Sometimes I do."

She turned her head to him, then shuddered violently when a cold raindrop slid down her back.

"I want you to change so you don't get sick," he said gently. He gave her a sideways glance. "But you still look pretty bad."

She had to laugh. "Your concern for my well-being is touching. Your concern for my well-looking is touched. Much like you." She smiled to let him know she was joking.

He smiled back, then leaned forward and turned the heater on 'high.' "Better?" he asked, as they left the city streets for the highway.

She closed her eyes and shivered. "I'll let you know as soon as it penetrates the outer layers," she answered, her voice trembling.

"Here, Scully." Mulder held out his handkerchief.

Scully opened her eyes and stared at it. "What am I supposed to do with that?" A drop of water rolled down her face past her nose, and she sneezed.

"Bless you. Use it to soak up some of that water in your hair."

She sniffed. "Thanks." Taking the piece of linen, she patted down her hair, then held it out in front of her, eyeing it suspiciously. "This wasn't used, was it?"

"Only once," he said, then laughed when her eyes widened in shock. "Just now. By you."

She gave a sigh of exasperation. "Sometimes, Mulder-- 'choo!"

"Bless you. Here."

Another handkerchief dangled in front of her face. She took it, then narrowed her eyes. "How many of these do you have?"

He laughed. "Mom always told me to take two: one to use and one to hand out to ladies."

"Ladies?"

"You know: Of the female persuasion. The opposite sex." He paused. "Women?" A shrug. "What can I say? She's from an era when men were gentlemen and women were ladies." He noticed that she was still holding the handkerchief. "It's clean, if that's what you're worried about."

"What? Oh.... no, sorry. I fuzzed out there for a minute." She folded the handkerchief in half and blew her nose.

His forehead creased in concern, and he glanced at her for as long as he could while still keeping an eye on the road. "Are you all right?"

She leaned back and sighed. "I think I'm a little tired."

"After seven hours on your feet, I'm not surprised." Mulder risked another look at her. Her eyes were closing, and her breathing was leveling out. "I think we'll have lunch in the room, what do you say?"

"Mmm... okay... sounds... good..."

Mulder pulled her coat closed around her, then tuned the radio to a classical station and hummed along with Mozart. He shook his head at how normal it all was, when just a little over an hour ago, he'd been trying to extract himself from the mind of a killer. It was somewhere he'd been before--somewhere it became harder and harder to get out of.

He had tried to keep his promise. He was leafing through the book, checking the most obvious--group shots of teams, clubs, classes--and listing the profiles of all the students with the victims' last names, when it just leaped out at him. The correlation. The connection. The link.

There was no group photo; they weren't even credited in a masthead, just the words "yearbook staff" included as part of their profiles.

Could someone have felt slighted? Were there any incriminating photographs? Mulder searched with a fine-toothed comb. All were average garden-variety schoolbook bland. Same for text. Nothing derogatory, insulting or even remotely insidious. Just names and events; no opinions offered, no amusing anecdotes, no personality whatsoever

Was it a member of the staff, or had someone gone through the six hundred plus names--very painstakingly, as he discovered--and looked for them all? He looked at his own list of eleven names: it was alphabetical, just as he'd taken them out of the yearbook. The victims, in order of death, were not. The names were not a complete match--some of them weren't even the correct gender--but they were all there. Every last one of them. This was it. He was sure of it.

He studied the victims' profiles in order of slaying: Gregory Cataldo, editor-in-chief. Captain of the track team. Member of the algebra club. Voted most likely to succeed. Top dog. Number one victim.

Except it was Denise Cataldo who'd been slain. A twenty-five-year-old investment banker who hadn't even been born when that yearbook was printed.

It was the same for all the rest. Philip Rosa, assistant editor. Clifford Rosa, retired carpet layer, murdered. Rosalind Angelo, pastry chef, in place of Gerald Angelo, head writer of 'The Beacon.' Frank Souza, photograher. Alison Souza, lab assistant, slain. All the names were there. But the wrong people were killed. All but victim number three, Joseph Alagata, the man whose yearbook Mulder had 'borrowed.' Mulder scanned the remaining names. Was the killer one of these? More than likely, yes.

Linking Scully's PC with the HQ mainframe, he had Washington run a check on the names. Two lived out of state, four still lived in the Boston area, with none residing in the North End. All were reasonably successful men and women in all walks of life. None had been dealt a raw deal in life--at least nothing that stood out. Nothing that would make someone kill.

He dug deeper. Of the four still in the state, two had careers and families, the other two had careers only. Both of those with families were men, both married in the seventies, both with children; one was a software engineer, one a real estate broker. The other man was a staff writer for one of the Boston newspapers. The woman was an attorney.

"Mulder?"

He had almost forgotten about his partner sleeping beside him. Glancing over at her, he smiled tenderly. "Yeah, Scully?"

Her eyes were still half-closed, and she was slumped against the seatback. "I'm really hungry."

He stared at her, amazed. Whenever he was in her condition, all he could think about was sleep; food was the furthest thing from his mind. "How are you feeling?" he asked. He risked another glance, but couldn't really assess the clothing situation.

"Can we stop somewhere? You can run in while I stay in here with the heater?"

So. Still wet. Still cold. But starving. "Okay. What do you feel like having?"

"Anything." Quickly realizing that giving Mulder carte blanche was as good as committing culinary suicide, she amended her answer. "So long as it's hot and doesn't come with fries. Or melted cheese."

He sighed. "No burgers, no pizza. What does that leave?"

"Soup?"

A grimace wrinkled his face, then he brightened. "How about Italian? Spaghetti? Lasagna? Veal parmigiana?"

"Stop! You're making me drool!"

He grinned. "Then I take it Italian's okay?"

"If there's one close by. I'm hungry _now_ , Mulder, not in an hour."

"Not to worry, partner." He slowed and pulled into a parking lot. "At your service."

She hunched down and peered through the windshield. The sign read 'Salvatore's Fine Italian Cuisine.' A huge photograph of an Italian feast was displayed in the side window. Her mouth began watering.

"What'll you have?"

"Lasagna. No. Spaghetti. I don't care. Whatever's fastest." She gave him a pleading look. "What are you getting?"

He decided to take pity on her. "Same as you. Whatever's fastest."

She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at him. "I love you, Mulder."

He laughed. "So long as you don't tell me I look good enough to eat." Winking at her, he said, "I love you, too, Scully, which is why I'm not getting the veal scalipini." He opened his door, then hesitated. "Do you want to come in?"

She shook her head. "My feet are killing me." A sheepish look slid onto her face. "Besides, I took my shoes off, and I don't think I can get them back on."

He winced in sympathy. "Well, I'll have you back in the hotel with your feet propped up on a pillow in no time." His mouth twitched into a smile. "Be out in a few."

She watched him until he disappeared through the restaurant door, then she leaned back and closed her eyes. He really was a good guy. She hadn't felt like throttling him for at least an hour.

She had never met a man with whom she could empathize and yet feel so frustrated at the same time. She detested his plunging blindly into potentially dangerous situations--be they alien involvement, government conspiracy or a clue to his sister's whereabouts--yet she could understand it. She understood him. And understanding Mulder was no picnic.

She thought of her solution-without-benefit-of-an-autopsy. Would she have made the connection a few years ago? Was she truly becoming her namesake? Was she 'Mrs. Spooky' in practice, not just by association? Dutton and MacNicol--and probably the Boston Police Department--seemed to think so. If she started running off after aliens and leaving Mulder to ponder her fate, she'd seriously begin to worry.

"Hey."

A hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. "Mulder!" She stared at the concerned expression on his face. "What's wrong? Where's the food?"

His face lightened, and he laughed. "Glad to see you've got your priorities straight." He glanced down to the seat between them. "Food's right there."

The smell was just beginning to waft upwards. "What did we get?" she asked, mouth salivating.

"Veal parmigiana. He was just taking it out of the oven. And angel hair." He placed a smaller bag on top. "Garlic bread." Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out two soda cans. "No wine... sorry. Iced tea. Okay?"

"Iced tea okay. When can we eat?"

"You can eat whenever you want. I'm going to eat when we get back to the hotel." He noticed her questioning look. "Veal parmigiana doesn't lend itself well to eating and driving."

As he started the car, he glanced over at her. She looked torn. "Go ahead and dig in, Scully. I'll feel better when you're not picturing me roasting on a spit with an apple in my mouth."

She looked annoyed as she ripped open one of the bags and popped the styrofoam lid. "It wasn't a spit," she said, cutting off a piece of veal and shoving it into her mouth. "It was a grill, and you were covered in barbecue sauce. Hickory smoke. No apple. Mm, this is good."

"I'm glad you approve. Barbecue sauce, hmm?" He gave her a sly look. "Everywhere?"

She swallowed a huge chunk before she nodded. "Everywhere that looked good enough to eat."

He tried not to squirm. "You're getting too good at this, Scully."

When she looked at him, her expression was one of total bafflement. "What?" she asked, still shoveling the chow in.

His face became hot, and he turned his attention back to the road. "Nothing," he mumbled.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw her stop in mid-chew, eyes widening. Her color must have matched his. "Oh."

Then she looked right at him, and he saw the wide grin on her face. They were coming to a red light, so he stopped and turned his head to her. Scully smiles were so far and few between that he didn't want to miss one--especially when it was directed at him. It didn't matter that it was most likely at his expense; seeing Scully smile was worth any price, any time, any where.

He was aware that he was staring at her in open-mouthed amazement. He was aware that he was finding it difficult to breathe. And he was aware that the light had turned green because the cars behind him were honking their fool heads off. An inner voice told him to ignore them, but reflex took over, and before he realized what he was doing, he was turned away from her, facing the road, going with the flow.

"You know, Mulder..." She was still eating, apparently unfazed by any effect she had on him. "If I were going to smear barbecue sauce over anyone, you would be my first choice." She twirled a glob of angel hair around her fork. "And speaking as one who's already inspected your, uh... wares... you'd be nothing but a pile of bones when I was through with you. Want some spaghetti?"

He was vaguely aware of the fork hovering in front of his face. Nodding numbly, he opened his mouth, and let her deposit the string-thin angel hair on his tongue. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and savor the moment more fully, but since he was doing 65 down the American Legion Highway, he opted to simply swallow wrong--and choke. Barely able to keep the road in sight, he immediately took his foot off the gas pedal and aimed for the side of the road.

When he could breathe again, he found that they were blocking the entrance to a used car lot. A man was hurrying toward them, yelling, most likely for them to move, but Mulder still felt too shaky to make the attempt. "Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" he berated himself. Although he'd intended to shout, the self-damnation came out as nothing more than a garbled whisper.

"Mulder, here. Take a sip of this." Scully was holding out an opened can of the tea, concern evident in her eyes. Great. Tea and Sympathy instead of Sex, Lies and Videotape. Mulder luck running true to form.

This was more embarrassing than the barbecue sauce, because this was real, this was happening. He mumbled his thanks as he reached for the can with--he was thoroughly disgusted to see--a trembling hand. When she tried to steady his, he was surprised to find that she was shaking, too. Jesus. He'd succeeded doing what aliens, mutants and serial killers hadn't been able to accomplish: he'd reduced both he and Scully to quivering masses of jelly. Together.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Shouldn't that be my question to you?"

His throat felt scratchy and he took a sip from the can. He didn't protest when she helped guide it to his mouth. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Scully."

Surprise played across her face. "For what?"

"For almost getting us killed." He grimaced. "Again."

"Oh, will you stop it? If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I was trying to be 'cute.' Loading up the fork with too much spaghetti and teasing you while you were driving."

"Hey! Are you two all right in there?" A balding man holding an enormous umbrella was peering in the window Scully had rolled down to give Mulder some fresh air.

"Uh, yes. We're sorry, sir. My friend got something caught in his throat, and we had to pull over suddenly."

"Hey, it's okay. You stopped kind of sudden, and I didn't know if you were hurt." He looked Scully over, but not in a threatening or demeaning manner. "Are you sure you're okay, M'am? Is your friend all right? He looks like he might be hurt somewhere."

Scully followed the man's eyes, and sucked in a breath before she realized why her partner looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Muhammed Ali. Poor Mulder. "No, he's fine. Thanks. We'll get out of your driveway now. Thanks for your concern."

The man smiled and nodded, then walked back to the office.

Without saying a word, Scully took some napkins from the bag and cleaned the spaghetti off the steering wheel. She handed one to Mulder, and he wiped the red sauce from where it had splattered on his face and down his coat.

"How are you doing, Mulder? Do you want me to drive the rest of the way?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm okay," he said in a too-quiet voice, shifting the car into drive and merging back into the flow of traffic.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the partners the rest of the five-minute drive to the hotel. She knew how embarrassed Mulder felt, and she felt embarrassed for having been witness to the episode--and having been its cause.

When they reached the parking lot, he waited while she struggled to get her shoes onto her swollen feet, but other than telling her to button up against the rain, he made no comment.

Her appetite had been sated before she choked Mulder, so she had resealed her meal and placed it back in the bag, and he carried it now, along with his own. She wondered if he was carrying them up just to throw them away.

"Give me a minute to change, and then come in, okay?" he said, when they reached their rooms.

She nodded and inserted the key in the door.

"Scully."

Holding the door open, she stepped back. "Yeah, Mulder?"

"You get out of those wet clothes, too." A smile worked its way onto his face. "And then how about we try that spaghetti-feeding thing again?"

Too stunned to think of a suitably risque comeback, she reverted to her parents' favorite non-committal reply: "We'll see."

Mulder's mouth dropped open; clearly he wasn't expecting even that much of a response. His silly grin--a real one this time--stayed with her as she pushed through the doorway into her room.

She pried off her shoes and tossed them into the closet, breathing a sigh of relief that her feet were finally free. A cold draft assailed her, and she shivered from the tips of her toes straight up to the top of her head. She hurried over to the open window and slammed it shut. Thoroughly chilled now, she grabbed jeans and a flannel button-down shirt and dashed into the bathroom. Quickly, she peeled off the damp suit and donned the warm, dry clothes; she sat on the closed toilet seat and tried to stop shaking.

"Scully? Are you all right in there?" Mulder's voice was slightly muffled through the door.

She rose and opened the door; looking up at him; she tried to smile. "I'm okay." She heard her voice trembling and decided not to elaborate.

"Come here." To her great surprise, he held open his arms, inviting her in. To her even greater surprise, she accepted.

He was even warmer without a coat between them. "You ought to bottle this, Mulder. You could make a fortune." She snuggled closer, practically burrowing into him, and sighed as his heat gradually seeped into every pore of her body.

Suddenly Mulder stiffened and released his hold. "Uh, Scully... Uh... I think..." She heard him take a deep, shuddering breath. "Could you let go of me, please?"

She didn't want to. "Aw, Mulder," she whined, already missing the warmth of his arms around her back. "Do I have to?"

Another shaky breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I think you do."

The real fear she heard in his voice snapped her back to reality. Very reluctantly, she disentangled herself from him. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He nodded, then inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly; he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said softly. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "It's that man/woman thing again. It took control for a minute, but I'm okay now." He squinted down at her. "You?"

She shook her head. "Never got me. The partnership's safe."

He was disappointed as all hell. "Great," he said flatly.

She laughed. "Sorry, Mulder." She gazed at him fondly. "But thanks for the warm-up."

His good humor returned and he grinned. "Glad I could be of service." His stomach rumbled and he remembered his food in the other room. "Come on, Scully. *I* knew better than to leave a window open at this time of the year in this part of the country. My room's nice and toasty. Just the thing for half-frozen FBI agents."

She followed him and... he was right; it *was* nice and toasty. She thought she would die from ecstasy. "Mmmmmulder..." she drawled, closing her eyes, hugging herself, swaying in bliss. She opened her eyes dreamily. "This is pure--"

He was standing in front of her, stock still, in open-mouthed shock.

She walked over to him and poked a finger under his chin, forcing his mouth closed. "Still having man/woman trouble, huh?"

He nodded and swallowed.

"That display didn't help much, did it?"

"No," he managed to croak.

She took a step backwards. "Things returning to normal?" she asked, darting a glance partway down his body and then back up to his eyes

His face flamed, and it was all she could do to keep from hugging him in sympathy, a move she knew would definitely _not_ help matters. "I... um... forgot my laptop," she told him, deciding that a little distance between them was needed. "I'm going to go next door and get it." She started for the connecting doorway.

Mulder came back to his senses when he realized what she was doing. "Scully, wait," he said. "Let me get it. You stay here where it's warm." He grinned apologetically. "I think we both know that I'm the one who could use a little cold right now."

She laughed and nodded. "Okay." Her face softened. "It's all right, you know," she said. "What you're feeling," she clarified. "I'm flattered." She allowed a smile to break through. "I always am."

He thought he would faint from the heat. He thought he would die from embarrassment. He broke away from her and stumbled into her room.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

He knew how long always was to him; he wondered how long it was to her.

Spotting the laptop where she'd left it on her bed, he scooped it up and then froze. He couldn't go in there now. Couldn't face her just yet. He staggered to the closest armchair and fell into it.

"Mulder? Are you okay in there?" She sounded concerned, and he was absurdly pleased by it. Her head peered around the door frame as she looked in at him. "Do you need help?" she asked, and his heart swelled with love. He smiled at her.

"I just need a couple of minutes, Scully. To..." He looked down at his shoes. "...you know, to cool off."

"Alone, you mean." It was stated simply, in understanding, but it was an offer of companionship if he needed it.

"Yeah, alone, I'm afraid." He held out her computer. "Do you want your laptop?"

She walked to him and took it from his arms. "Thanks." She started away, then stopped and turned back to him. "Are you okay with this?" she asked softly.

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah," he said sincerely. "I just..." He sighed.

She returned his smile, a little sadly, he thought. "I know."

It struck him then as he watched her go that he wasn't alone in his plight. She'd already told him with words, it was true, yet he hadn't truly _believed_ it until just now, until a second ago when he looked into her eyes. She didn't try to hide it, didn't try to disguise it. Her love for him shone through with heartbreaking clarity.

And, he, just as she had, tucked it away into that corner of his heart where he kept his dreams, and went to join his partner in the next room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Boston Field Office April 15, 1996 9:15 a.m.**

"So you're saying that all these victims had no real connection to the killer, except... uh... Joseph Alagata."

"Right. Victim Number Three. He's the only one of the yearbook staff still in the old neighborhood. Our killer, however, seems to have moved on to greener pastures. Alagata was the only one of the yearbook staff still living in the North End."

MacNicol expelled a breath of disgust. "That's the most asinine--"

"Shut up, Bob." Dutton didn't even look at his agent, his gaze never leaving Mulder. "So who is it?"

Mulder shook his head. "It could be any one of them."

"Any one of whom?"

"Anyone on the yearbook staff. Intended victim or not. They're all still suspect at this point."

"Why the hell didn't you come in sooner?" MacNicol exploded. "Why'd you wait until this morning?"

Mulder frowned. "We came in as soon as it was feasible."

"And Mulder spent all night writing this profile." Scully slapped it onto Dutton's desk, glaring at MacNicol.

"All right, Spooky! It's about time you did something right for a change!" MacNicol reached for the sheets of paper, but Dutton clamped a hand down on them.

"Hey!" MacNicol protested.

"Shut up, Bob," the SAC repeated. He looked up at his old teammate. "Are you okay, Mulder?"

"A little tired but..." Mulder glanced at Scully and smiled. "...okay."

Dutton didn't miss the look. Shoving the profile into MacNicol's eager hands, he ushered Mulder and Scully out of his office. "I'll be back in a minute," he said to the AIC. "Wait here."

Dutton took them to an empty interrogation room and had them sit in the room's only two chairs. "Now tell me..." He gazed intently into Mulder's eyes. "Are you really okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he pounced on Scully. "Is he?"

Her eyes darted quickly to Mulder and then back to Dutton. "He's fine, sir. A little tired, like he said."

The SAC nodded and turned back to Mulder. "The profile--how... detailed... is it? How much of the killer's psyche did you..." He bit his lip. "Mulder, I can't help but remember how--"

"John, it's all right. I'm all right. Scully was with me. We worked on it together."

The implications of that statement were not lost on Dutton. Scully wasn't only his partner, she was his protector. His savior.

His friend.

A pang of guilt hit Dutton just then. Maybe if he'd tried harder to get to know that quirky, cocksure, and--God!--so young agent all those years ago, Mulder would still be with VCS. Maybe all he needed was someone to talk to, someone who would listen to him.

Dutton's eyes met Mulder's and then he knew with certainty that it wouldn't have made a difference. It might have caused him to stay an extra couple of months or even years, but there was no denying the inevitable: working VCS would either have killed him or--more likely--driven him into an insane asylum.

Even if Scully had been there, Dutton had no doubt that even she couldn't pull him back time and time again. That eventually he would succumb to the madness he saw, to the madness he felt.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," he said, and never had those two words been said with such complete and utter honesty and comprehension of just what they encompassed: for the years of clinical detachment, the years of resentment, the years of not understanding; for this week and last night and this morning, and for all the years in between. 'I'm sorry' didn't seem to cover it, but it was all he had. All he could offer.

Mulder saw the look in the SAC's eyes and felt acutely uneasy. No longer comfortable around his old friend, he merely nodded. "I... uh... you don't need us anymore, do you?"

Dutton looked up in surprise. "Don't you want to be in on the interviews?"

Mulder shifted in his chair and shook his head, just barely. "Your staff can handle it from here, can't they?" He turned his attention to his partner. "Scully?"

She shook her head. "Pass."

Dutton examined each weary face, then nodded. "I want you both to stay in town, though, until we catch this perp. In case..." He trailed off and glanced at Mulder.

"Yeah, I know. We'll stick around awhile. You have our cel phone numbers?"

The SAC patted his jacket pocket. "Got 'em."

"Well, then..." Mulder eked out a smile, nodded to Scully, and they stood up. They walked slowly toward the door.

"Hey." Dutton's quiet page halted them both, and they turned back around to face him.

"Yeah?" Mulder asked.

"Get some rest, okay? I appreciate the profile." His gaze encompassed both agents. "I appreciate your staying up all night to complete it."

The agents nodded but stayed put, sensing that the SAC wasn't finished with them yet.

"Um... Mulder, I'd like to apologize about the other night. I was angry about how you were treating MacNicol--"

Scully's eyebrows nearly rose clear off her face; which planet was *he* on?

Dutton sighed loudly. "Bo'bs been acting so out of character since you got here, I was sure it had to be you. But I got to thinking about that whole scene in the car, and I called some people. They filled me in on your history with him at Quantico." He glanced at Mulder uncomfortably. "Seems like I read that situation in the car wrong. Seems like I read a lot about you wrong." Dutton held out a hand to Mulder. "No hard feelings?"

Mulder accepted the handshake. "No hard feelings, John," he said quietly.

Dutton let out a sigh and nodded; a tiny portion of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Thanks." He moved his gaze to Scully. "I'd like to apologize to you, too, Dana. For putting you in the middle." He looked away guiltily. "And for my comments earlier about your findings with that bee sting victim." A sheepish smile worked its way onto his face. "I was a little jealous. Of both of you. Of your analytic abilities. That was some great work you did."

Scully felt herself blushing. "Thank you." She glanced over at Mulder, to give him the 'let's-get-out-of-here-now' look.

He was beaming at her.

"Thanks," she repeated, flustered. "Come on, Mulder," she stammered, ducking her head and darting out the door.

Honestly! Sometimes he acted more like her father than her partner. Ahab, indeed. Well, she hit that one right on the head, didn't she?

"Scully! Hey, Scully!" Mulder caught up with her just inside the street exit and took hold of her arm, effectively stopping her flight. "Where's the fire?"

She turned on him. "The fire? It's right here." She pointed savagely at her face, still hot with embarrassment.

"What..." Mulder let go of her and she pulled the door open, rushing through it. He hurried after her, catching up with her only after she reached the car. "Why are you so upset?" he asked, and she heard the genuine confusion in his voice.

He really had no idea, she realized. Her anger evaporated as quickly as it had erupted. Why _was_ she upset? He hadn't done anything but act proud of her. Of his partner.

Oh, God, and she had reacted like a lover. "I'm sorry. I... I was embarrassed, that's all. I didn't mean to snap." She leaned against the car, suddenly sapped of all strength. Mulder unlocked the doors, and she sank gratefully into the cool fabric.

"I'll have to remember never to compliment you," he said, the barest hint of amusement discernible in his voice.

Oh, God, the shoe was on the other foot now. She had felt so superior last night, so smug, that she had been immune to those... feelings... plaguing her partner.

"Scully?"

She looked at him dully.

"Guess I should leave the heater off, huh?"

* * *

**Holiday Inn Room 1714 April 16, 1996 3:13 a.m.**

Mulder dabbed at his partner's cheeks and forehead with a cool cloth. "Hey," he said, gently, and she stirred beneath his touch, opening her eyes. "You gave me quite a scare for a minute there." His voice shook as he sat on the side of her bed dressed only in his boxers.

She looked thoroughly befuddled as she took in her partner's appearance. "Mulder?"

"You have a fever, Scully."

She stared at him a minute. "Oh." A few more seconds passed with her continuing to stare up at him. "Is that why I see you sitting there in your underwear?"

He chuckled. "It's nice to know you have your fantasies, too. But, basically: yes. That's why I'm sitting here in my underwear."

"Fulfilling my fantasy?"

God, he sure hoped so. He shook his head. "I was asleep next door, and I woke to find you standing over me. Scared the shit out of me." He reached out and plucked a stray hair from where it had fallen across one of her eyes. "Then I blinked, and you weren't there." He felt tears stinging his eyes, and blinked quickly. "You were on the floor. Christ, I almost stepped on you when I got out of bed. I thought I must have been dreaming. I didn't think you had really been there." His nerves still hadn't settled down, and he took a shaky breath.

"Mmm..." she said, closing her eyes; she didn't want to know how she got back to her own bed. "I feel awful, Mulder. What time is it?"

"Uh..." He glanced at his watch. "Three fifteen--a.m."

Her eyes popped open. "I've been asleep--"

"Thirteen hours. You laid down for a nap after lunch." He had figured that she was just tired from their all-nighter the previous evening, and had left her alone to sleep. He'd no idea she was sick until she passed out at his bedside.

"What happened on the case? Did--"

"Nothing yet."

"Oh, good. Then I can go back to sleep."

Mulder frowned. "Do you want something to eat first? I ordered you some vegetable soup and a salad from room service around eleven. They should still be okay to eat."

She looked surprised at that, and Mulder felt a pang of remorse that she should be so surprised at his consideration of her health.

"Maybe later," she said, smiling at him, "but thanks." Glancing behind him, she said, "Right now, I want to get out of these hot clothes."

"Need any help?" he asked, suggestively.

She gave him a look of annoyance, then struggled to get up.

After watching for about five seconds, he finally gave in to his protective instinct and helped her. Expecting the patented I-Can-Do-It-Myself Glare, he was pleasantly surprised when she smiled gratefully at him.

He let go as soon as she was on her feet, then grabbed her shoulders when she began toppling forward. "Easy," he warned.

Panting, she clutched at his waist and leaned her head into his chest. "Jesus," she breathed.

Feeling her start to slip down, he pulled her more securely against him. "Scully? Do you want to lie back down?"

"I just need to sit," she said, and her voice was so faint that he was afraid she was going to pass out on him.

He backed them slowly down onto the bed. "Hey..." He rubbed a hand across her back. "How are you doing?"

"I'm hot. I'm so fucking hot, Mulder."

"Do you want me to help you out of your clothes?"

She looked up at him groggily. "You wish." Then her eyes closed, and she sagged against him.

He brushed at the hair in her eyes, and his hand came away wet. He frowned. "Do you want me to help you, Scully?" he asked, softly, seriously.

Almost a complete minute went by before he heard the whispered, "Yeah."

"Okay, you lie down and I'll do all the work." He let her disentangle herself from him, and waited while she lay back, then unzipped her pants and slipped them off as gently as he could. "All right," he said, nodding. "Let's get you out of that hot shirt now, okay?" Very carefully, he unbuttoned her silk blouse and slid it off her. "Better?" he asked, and when she sighed, he felt her relief.

Amazingly, he felt only concern for her well-being, for his _partner's_ well-being; that she was a beautiful, desirable woman and she was half-naked before him never even came into consideration. He supposed that when you loved someone, concern for that person's health overrode all other emotions. And there was no doubt in his mind that he loved Dana Scully.

"Dana? Do you want me to get your pajamas?"

Her eyes opened, and she looked at him through half-closed lids. "Yeah, but... not yet. I need to cool off first."

He pulled a chair up beside her. "Okay. Take as much time as you need. I'll be here."

She managed to look amused as she took in her undressed state. One eyebrow lifted as she met his eyes.

"Of course."

* * *

**Holiday Inn Room 1714 April 16, 1996 9:35 a.m.**

Scully woke to find Mulder passed out in a chair beside her bed, mouth open, arms dangling over the sides, long legs stretched out straight in front of him. He looked utterly exhausted.

Well, she reflected, that was quite a night; she wondered what time he'd finally allowed himself to fall asleep. Sitting up, she thought it remarkable that just a few hours ago, she had felt like death warmed over, and now she felt almost like her old self. She stretched and slid out of bed; a shower should bring her all the way back. Pausing to retrieve the blanket from where it had fallen from her partner's almost-naked form, she tucked it back around him, and padded into the bathroom, closing the door very softly behind her.

She emerged from her shower feeling refreshed, yet still tired. Deciding that she wasn't quite ready to face the outside world, she put her pajamas back on and went to lie down. Mulder was still dead to the world, and she debated the pros and cons of waking him. Her memory of his awakening stiff and sore at the beach shifted her vote to the pro.

"Mulder," she called, softly. "Mulder, it's Scully."

His eyes fluttered open, he tried to lift his head and groaned. "Ohh... Scully. How are you feeling?" he moaned, moving his head slowly forward and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked at her through bleary eyes.

"How long have you been in that chair?"

"I don't know... a couple of hours maybe." He blinked. "What time is it?"

"A little after 9:30. What time did we get to bed?"

"Um... about four."

"And when did you fall asleep?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. About six maybe."

"Six?"

"All right. Seven."

She sighed, knowing that he'd spent those three hours--probably more like four, knowing Mulder--watching over her.

"You were pretty sick, Scully," he said quietly.

"Yeah." She sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

"Are you feeling better?"

She nodded. "I feel much better." She kicked the blankets down and slid her feet in, then the rest of her body until she was lying down. "But I'm still tired. I'm going back to sleep for awhile." She yawned. "You should do the same."

Mulder was wide-awake now, and had that mother-hen-with-one-of-his-chicks-is-sick look on his face.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said before he could ask. "Just tired."

"Scully..." He slid his chair closer, and held his hand out to her; she thought how she had never seen him look so disconsolate.

"All right. Go ahead. Satisfy that Florence Nightingale quality of yours."

He grinned happily and laid the back of his hand against her forehead; she closed her eyes to savor the feel of his skin next to hers.

"You're still a little warm," he said, shifting his hand to cup her cheek. She opened her eyes and almost laughed at the deadly serious expression on his face.

"Go to bed, Mulder," she said gently. "I'm fine."

He looked unconvinced. "But--"

"You can leave the connecting door open if it'll make you feel better."

He sighed. "All right." He rose to his feet, letting the blanket that had been draped over him fall to the floor. Her eyes closed, and he watched her for a minute, until a huge yawn escaped him.

"Scully?"

He waited another minute, then headed for his own room. He stopped in the connecting doorway to look back at her, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"Go to bed, Mulder."

He jumped a foot at her voice. "Jesus, Scully!" His heart still pounding, he turned to go, then stopped. "...'Night," he said softly.

"Mmm... 'Night." She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

God, she loved doing that to him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Room 1712 April 16, 1996 11:15 a.m.**

"Uh, huh... Okay... No, I'll be there in about an hour... I'm not sure; she's a little under the weather. ...Right." Remembering Scully asleep in the next room, he put the phone back in its cradle very carefully.

He looked in on Scully, then gathered a set of clean clothes and padded into the bathroom. When he exited, dressed and clean-shaven, he stopped short.

His partner was sitting on his bed, dressed for work. "Going somewhere?" she asked.

Recovering quickly, he walked over to his suitcase and stuffed yesterday's boxers in with the rest of his dirty clothes. "The profile was a bust," he said, not looking at her. "No one fit, plus they have alibis, if not for all, then for most. I'm going down to take a look at the transcripts, listen to the interviews." He met her eyes. "You sure you feel up to coming?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

He shrugged; there was no arguing with her when she was in 'I'm fine, Mulder' mode.

"You're the doctor. Let's go."

* * *

**Boston Field Office April 16, 1996 12:10 p.m.**

They were ushered into an empty interrogation room as soon as they walked through the door. Dutton's assistant had them staked out, and pounced on them before they could even shake the rain off their coats.

"Everything's all set up for you, Agents." She gestured to the table laden with folders, audio tapes, and a tape player. "Agent Dutton will be in as soon as he's available." She glanced from one face to the other. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Coffee?" Mulder looked at his partner, and she nodded. "But if you'll point us in the right direction, we can get it ourselves."

The woman smiled warmly at him. "Come on. I'll show you."

She started for the door, Mulder and Scully following, then Mulder stopped and turned to his partner. "Why don't I get yours, Scully? You can get things organized."

Looking back at the orderly table, Scully suddenly tumbled to what her partner really wanted: a few minutes alone with the pretty assistant. "Um, yeah. Thanks, Mulder," she mumbled.

Irrationally, unreasonably, she felt betrayed. Watching in morbid fascination as he caught up with the assistant and they exchanged words, she turned away when he beamed a grateful smile at the woman.

Quickly flipping open the top folder, she shivered at the lifeless young face of Denise Cataldo. She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the photo, when a soft click followed by a 'whoosh' sounded in front of her, and a blast of warm air tickled her legs.

"Ah... That's much better, isn't it?" Mulder placed two steaming mugs on the table and pushed one to her. "I asked Patricia if she could turn up the heat in here."

She looked up quickly, nearly spilling her coffee. "That's what you--" She tried hard not to smile, but the fact was she was secretly pleased. It had been a total misinterpretation on her part, but one she didn't mind.

The smile of gratitude that had lit up his face had been for her.

* * *

**Boston Field Office Interrogation Room April 16, 1996 6:20 p.m.**

The door opened and closed softly; Mulder swiveled toward it, wondering what would have brought his partner back so quickly. "What d'you forget--" The smile died on his lips as MacNicol stood before him.

"Hey, Super G-Man." He tried to peer around Mulder, at the notes and photos lying spread out on the table behind him. "So where's my suspect, Spooky? Come up with any other 'brilliant' profiles?" He snorted derisively. "I always figured you were overrated, 'Fox.' Your partner been carrying you all this time?"

"What do you want, MacNicol?" Mulder took a sip from his coffee. "I'm busy."

"You must keep her satisfied, Spook--the way she defends you, you must. You good in the sack, Spook?"

Mulder found himself actually thinking about it. About he and Scully... He waited until MacNicol's eyes met his, and then he smiled seductively. "Is that an invitation?"

Mulder had to choke back his laughter at the collage of expressions playing over MacNicol's face: shock, then indignation, then pure, seething anger . "Is that how you do it, Spook? Fuck your way to the top?"

"Takes one to know one, MacNicol." He turned his back on the man.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm, spinning him around, throwing him off balance. Although he managed to hold onto the coffee mug, its contents went flying--straight onto MacNicol's pristine white shirt.

"Goddammit, Spooky, look what you did!" MacNicol was looking down at his chest, brushing at the rapidly-spreading brown stain.

"You really ought to try using your brain instead of your brawn once in a while," Mulder said, trying not to laugh. "I hear you stay dryer that way." Mulder couldn't contain his laughter any longer, and turned away from the red-faced MacNicol.

"You son of a bitch!"

Mulder felt a hand on his shoulder, felt the fist on his chin, then felt the corner of the heavy wooden table as it connected solidly with the back of his head.

"Get up, you asshole." Through a haze, he heard MacNicol, and he opened his eyes. Mulder looked up at the two MacNicol's floating above him. Oh, please, he prayed, let it be double vision. He couldn't possibly live with more than one MacNicol in the world.

"I said, get up, you asshole."

"I heard you the first time," Mulder mumbled. He didn't budge.

"Get up!" MacNicol roared.

"What for? Haven't you had enough?" Mulder felt dizzy, and could feel a lump growing on the back of his head.

MacNicol reached down and grabbed Mulder by his necktie. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, pushing his knee into Mulder's groin. "Maybe I should put you out of action for awhile. Take away your 'advantage.'" He punctuated his oral 'dig' with a tear-inducing physical one.

"MacNicol, stop. You're--" Mulder had to bite his lip against the growing pressure below and the throbbing pain above.

Suddenly Mulder's head hit the floor again; fireworks exploded behind his eyes.

A hand slid under his shoulder. "Jesus. Oh, Jesus Christ. Mulder, I didn't mean to... Are you all right?"

"Get your hands off me," Mulder hissed.

"Look, I'm sorry, man. I just lost it when you... That was a two-hundred dollar shirt."

"Whose fucking fault was that?" Mulder rasped. His head was pounding, and he was nauseous. Oh, this was fucking great. He was going to puke all over the Boston Field Office, in front of that asshole, MacNicol.

"What the hell's going on here?"

Scully's voice came from somewhere behind the mountain of man leaning over him. "Get the fuck out of my face, MacNicol," he gasped. "Scully..."

The AIC was shoved aside, and Scully's face hovered above him. He had to close his eyes and swallow. Christ, his head hurt. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep, he kept telling himself. Yet when he opened his eyes, and his head was on a soft surface instead of the hard floor, he knew that he hadn't been successful. He looked up into his partner's eyes, only inches from his own

"Scully, I think I have a concussion," he told her, and although he knew he'd mangled the sentence, he knew that she understood him.

"I think you're right." She tilted his head forward, and he sucked in a breath when she touched the sore spot. "Sorry." He gritted his teeth as she examined the injury. "What happened?"

He'd probably hate himself tomorrow, but... hell, everyone lost his temper once in a while. He recalled one or two... or twenty... occasions where he would have been suspended had his actions ever come to light. He wouldn't be responsible for even an asshole like MacNicol getting suspended. "I slipped," he lied, and knew she knew he was lying. "I spilled my coffee and then slipped on it."

She looked him in the eyes. "Uh, huh." Frowning at what she saw in his eyes, she held up more fingers than she could possibly possess. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"How many are you holding up, or how many do I see?"

She shook her head at him. "Never mind. I get the picture."

He swallowed. "...we going to the hospital?"

She nodded. "You know that a concussion's nothing to fool around with." Her eyes drifted to the doorway. "Besides, I think MacNicol already called the paramedics."

"An ambulance, Scully?" he groaned.

"An ambulance, Mulder."

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the paramedics. "Come in," she called, and the two men propped the door open with the stretcher. One dumped his equipment beside Mulder and began his examination. "He has a concussion," Scully informed them. "Blow to the back of the head."

The man took a minute away from Mulder to focus on her. "Are you a doctor, Ma'am?"

"Yes, I am. And I'm his partner. I'd like to ride in the ambulance with him."

"Yes, Ma'am." He started an I.V., then they strapped Mulder onto the stretcher.

"I hate this," he whispered to her, closing his eyes as he was wheeled through the office.

"I know," she said, sympathetically. "If it's any consolation, there's no one left here. Only you, me, and MacNicol--and he's nowhere to be seen." He felt her hand gripping his, and he tried to grip back.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt and opened his eyes. Through a curtained window, scenery was whizzing by at dizzying speeds. "Scully?" he croaked, feeling a trace of panic.

"Right here, Mulder. We're in the ambulance, on the way to the hospital." He started to turn his head but stopped when he felt her hands restraining him. "Slowly, Mulder. Do you want to pass out again?"

He looked up at her dully. Passing out sounded like a really good idea.

"Mulder? I know it's hard, but try to stay awake. Okay?"

She slid her hand into his, and he grasped it desperately. "Okay."

"You're going to be fine. You know that, right?"

"I know." He gripped her hand tighter. "I didn't start it."

It took her a moment before she realized where his thoughts were. Back at the field office. With MacNicol.

"I know. He told me what happened. He materialized right after you passed out on the way to the ambulance."

Mulder opened his eyes, wondering just what MacNicol had told her. He stared up at her silently.

She leaned in close to him so that the paramedic couldn't hear her. "He pushed you while you were holding a cup of coffee and punched you because you got his suit wet."

He looked up into her eyes, surprised.

"Was there more to it?" she asked.

"No. That's the gist of it." He squeezed her hand, and then felt utterly drained; he let his eyes close.

"Hey." Her hand nudged his cheek, and he opened his eyes.

"I'm so tired, Scully. Can't I go to sleep for a few minutes?"

"I know you are, but you really shouldn't." The ambulance stopped, and Scully saw that they had arrived. "We're at the hospital, Mulder. After they examine you, if they don't keep you, I'll take you back to the hotel and you can sleep. But not now. Okay?"

He sighed mightily. "Okay." The back doors of the ambulance opened, and the paramedics started wheeling him out. When they pulled him away from her he closed his eyes.

"Stay with me, Mulder." He felt her hand take his.

"Still here, Scully," he said, although his voice was no more than a whisper. "Not going anywhere..."

She squeezed his hand. "Me, neither."

* * *

**Holiday Inn Room 1714 April 17, 1996 8:58 a.m.**

"Yes, sir. ... No, sir. We finished all the transcripts yesterday before Agent Mulder's... 'accident.' ... Yes, we agreed with your conclusions about them. We'll be working on a new profile as soon as he feels up to it. ... Why don't you ask Agent MacNicol about that, sir? ... Yes, sir. I'll call you as soon as we have something."

"...Scully?"

Her boxer-clad partner stumbled into her room and sat down heavily on the bed. She felt ridiculously overdressed in her beige pajamas.

"Dutton?" He indicated the phone still in her hand.

"Yeah." She hung it up and sat down next to him. "He wants to know if you're feeling well enough to get started on the new profile." She eyed him critically. "Are you?"

He laid his head on her shoulder. "Uh, huh."

She allowed his head to remain there for a few minutes, then tapped his cheek. "Hey, sleeping beauty. My shoulder's not a pillow."

"I know," he sighed. "It's better."

"Mulder..."

"It's the comfort factor, Scully." He straightened up and looked at her. "Not physical comfort--although I'll admit that's kind of nice, too--but the comfort of knowing you're near." Smiling smugly at her, he asked, "You can't tell me all those times you fell asleep on my shoulder you didn't feel safer, more... well, comforted."

She frowned. "You were the only game in town, Mulder. Don't go getting delusions of grandeur."

"Hey, if you're going to get delusions, the grandeur the better." He grinned at her, then his expression softened. "I was speaking from my point of view, and extrapolating it to yours. It's how _I_ feel. I only presumed you felt the same."

She sighed. "I do. I just..." Another sigh.

"...Can't articulate it as eloquently as I can?" His eyes were twinkling now.

"...Don't _want_ to articulate it as eloquently as you can."

"Ah. A woman of action, not words." He shrugged. "I guess I can get used to it."

She shook her head. "Mulder, you're impossible."

"And you love me for it."

"I love you for it."

"Enough to share your coffee?" His eyes strayed to the covered styrofoam cup on the nightstand.

She snatched it out of his reach. "I don't love _anybody_ _that_ much." She rose and took a couple of steps toward his room. "But I did get you your own cup. If you had opened your eyes before staggering in here you would have seen it."

It took him a few seconds to react. "There's coffee in my room?" He looked at her for confirmation.

She nodded.

" _My_ coffee? My very own entire cup of coffee? No sharesies? I get to drink the whole cup?"

She laughed. "Mulder, you're sick."

He practically leaped up off the bed. "No, I'm not. I'm inj--"

She had her arms around him as soon as he paled, and held him upright while he fought to regain his bearings. After a few seconds, her strength began to flag under his weight. "Mulder, can you make it back to the bed? I don't think I can hold you much longer."

"Yeah," he said breathlessly. "Scully..."

"Yes?" she asked, guiding him to the bed and sitting them down; he laid his head on her shoulder again.

"The smell of your coffee is driving me crazy."

She had forgotten all about the cup she had been holding when she dashed to catch him. "Uh... Mulder?"

"Uhm?"

"That's because you're wearing it."

He groaned. If this kept up, they'd be personally responsible for the addition of coffee to the endangered beverages list. "Did we ruin another hotel rug, Scully?"

She glanced at the deepening brown spot on the grey rug. "Uh, huh. And a bedspread. As we speak."

"Huh?" Then she felt his body temperature rising beneath her. "Oh. Right. Wasn't much there for it to soak into, was there?"

"Do you _ever_ wear anything else to bed?"

His head lifted, and he directed a self-righteous look her way. "If you must know, I'm dressed like this for your benefit."

She gave him an 'excuse me?' look.

"I'm wearing these boxers for you, Scully." When she looked like she was about to hit him, he went on hurriedly. "I'm overdressed."

"Mulder, I've walked in on you dozens of times while you were having nightmares. You're _always_ in your underwear."

"While we're on a case, yes, of course. For precisely that reason." He looked embarrassed. "I'm always waking you up, so I have to be wearing _something_."

"So you're telling me that other than when we're on the road together, you sleep 'au natural?'"

"Well... when I remember. Usually I fall asleep on my couch before I get a chance to change."

She stared at him. "So nine times out of ten you fall asleep fully clothed. But when we're on the road you wear nothing but your shorts. For me."

"Well... yeah. At home, it just... happens. I sit down to watch TV, and the next thing I know it's morning. There's a conscious effort on the road, though, to actually prepare to go to bed. So rather than sleep as I'd prefer, I wear the shorts."

She shook her head in exasperation. "You know, in its own twisted way, that makes sense."

He looked doubtful. "It does?"

"If it were anybody but you, I'd think it was some lame attempt to come on to me."

"When I decide to come on to you, Scully, you'll know it."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It's gonna happen," he said, very seriously. "Just not here--and just not now. But eventually."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to sit around and wait for you?"

It was his greatest fear that she wouldn't. "Of course not," he said to the floor. "But I'd like to think that when the time comes you'll at least be willing to consider it. Consider me." He looked up hopefully.

"Mulder--"

He shook his head, then immediately regretted it as what had been merely an annoying thrumming escalated to a cacophony of percussion. "Not now, Scully. In the future. Okay?"

She nodded, more than willing to put this conversation on hold.

He pressed his hands to his pounding temples. "Do you have those pain killers the hospital gave you for me?"

"They're in your room. Come on," she said, guiding him toward the open door. She sat him on the bed, then ducked into the bathroom for a cup of water. She shook out two of the small white pills. "Open," she instructed him, touching a finger to his lips, and he obeyed without question. She popped both pills into his mouth and held the water to his lips while he swallowed.

"Thanks," he gasped, flopping onto his stomach.

Looking down in sympathy, Scully found that his hair needed ruffling. "How are you doing?" she asked.

He blew out a breath, and she could tell it was one of relief. "Better." After a few minutes he rolled over and opened his eyes. "Where's my coffee?"

Nothing about him surprised her anymore. Lightning fast mood swings were the name of the game where Mulder was concerned. She nodded to the night table beside the bed. "Over there."

Even though he sat up slowly, the room still spun wildly around him. "What's in those pills, Scully?" he panted, collapsing against her.

"They're pretty potent stuff, Mulder, but the doctor said that the headaches could be quite severe, and since you wanted to be able to work..."

His eyes opened and then closed just as quickly. "I can't work like this."

"The dizziness is temporary. It should pass in a couple of minutes." She rubbed her hand up and down his back soothingly. "Just try to relax."

"If I were any more relaxed I'd be comatose."

He tried to shift himself off her, but she held firm. "You're fine, Mulder," she said, and he chuckled. "What?" she asked.

"That's a new spin on an old line."

"Old line?"

"You know..." His head was clearing, so he pulled back and gazed into her eyes, expecting a sparkle of recognition. All he saw was puzzlement and fatigue. His brows furrowed in concern. "Scully?"

"I'm fine, Mulder."

He couldn't help it; he burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, Scully, but that's it."

"It?"

He took her gently by by the shoulders. "The old line. 'I'm fine, Mulder... you're fine, Mulder...' See?"

She stared at him a moment, until he saw the glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "Oh," she said, giving a small disinterested smile.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You look a little flushed." He touched the back of his hand to her cheek. "Fever coming back? You're kind of warm."

"Maybe. I don't feel all that great anymore. I'm going to lie down for awhile." She studied her partner a moment. "How about you? How's your head? Any residual dizziness?"

"A little," he admitted, "but nothing debilitating."

"Why don't you lie down for awhile?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm going to get started on the new profile."

"Mulder..."

"It'll be all right, Scully," he said softly. "I don't have to go crawling inside any minds with this one. This guy's not killing because of some repressed psychological disorder. He's killing specific people for a specific reason--some form of revenge. We just have to figure out why."

She sighed. "Mulder, I want to work on this with you, but I--"

"Shh..." He laid a finger over her lips. "You go to bed. I promise if I feel like I'm getting in too deep, I'll stop."

"Even if you're this close?" She held out her hand, thumb and pointer finger almost, but not quite, touching. "Even if you can taste it, can feel it..."

"I'll stop. I may come in half-cocked and scare you to death when I wake you up, but I promise I'll stop."

Another sigh. "Okay." She rose and headed for her room, then stopped when she reached the doorway. "Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Try really hard not to scare me to death, okay?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Holiday Inn Room 1714 April 17, 1996 9:05 p.m.**

Scully was surprised to find the room in total darkness when she awoke. She looked quickly to the window, expecting to see the curtains drawn, and was a little shocked to discover that they weren't. Night already? She couldn't have slept that long, could she? Her gaze drifted to the door between the two rooms; it was closed, but not tightly. The tiny sliver of light from Mulder's room made the darkness a bit less daunting.

She wondered how he'd made out with the profile, if he'd been able to do much work on it. She slid out of bed and, after a stop in the bathroom, made for his room. "Mulder?" She knocked lightly on the door, in case he was asleep.

"Come on in, Scully," he said, and she heaved a sigh of relief at how normal he sounded.

She pulled the door open and gasped.

Mulder was at her side in a heartbeat. "You okay?"

She shielded her eyes with her hand. "Yeah. The light..." Her hand lowered, and she tried not to squint. "It's so bright, it just caught me off-guard."

Reaching behind her, he flicked off the harsh overhead, leaving just the softer glow from the two table lamps. "Better?"

Her hackles raised at what she at first perceived to be his over-protectiveness, but then she recognized it for what it truly was: simple consideration. She smiled at him. "Yeah... thanks."

His worried expression vanished, replaced by a smile of affection and quiet joy; she felt ashamed for the rebuke she had been about to unleash and that he had obviously expected.

"Um... do you want to come in?" he asked. "I think I have it nailed this time."

"You're done?" Not that she was all that surprised; after all, he'd had almost twelve hours to work on it. She shuffled over to the bed and lowered herself onto it with a sigh. God, she had just woken up, and it took all her willpower not to curl up on Mulder's bed and close her eyes.

The look in Mulder's eyes foretold an "Are you all right, Scully," but she saw him quickly catch himself and nod in response to her question. "I finished a few hours ago."

"So, what..." Try as she might to hold it in, the yawn slipped out. "Sorry. Um... what did you conclude?"

He walked over and sat beside her on the bed. "Well, I was having trouble pinning down a motive, and my mind kept going back to the interview with Greg Cataldo." He smiled at her fondly. "Good catch, by the way."

She felt pleased, but embarrassed. It was her job, after all, as a trained investigator, to listen for any inconsistencies on the part of the interviewee. When asked if he remembered any incidents taking place as a result of anything having to do with the yearbook, Cataldo had hesitated and then answered in the negative, as if he had considered divulging a piece of news and then dismissed it as unimportant. But she had picked up on it, and had Mulder rewind the tape until he confirmed her suspicion. He had jotted a note to follow up with Cataldo later.

"Did you talk to him?"

Mulder nodded. "He was still convinced that it was nothing and that it was hardly worth mentioning." He shrugged. "I persuaded him to mention it."

"And?"

"It seems that one of the seniors quit school the same day the yearbooks were distributed. Cataldo thought it couldn't possibly have anything to do with this case, but he did remember the name of the student. He thought it was kind of odd because she had been voted 'most likely to succeed.'"

Scully straightened, her interest piqued. Girl voted 'most likely to succeed' quitting school? "She was pregnant, wasn't she?"

Just the tiniest hint of surprise touched Mulder's eyes. "Yes, she was."

"She killed herself." Scully sounded so certain that Mulder wondered whether he'd ever be privy to the story behind that certainty.

"About a week later. I talked to her mother. Louise--the girl's name was Louise Consata--was okay with the pregnancy until the yearbook came out. Then it hit her that she wouldn't be the 'most likely to succeed.' She wouldn't be anything but another unwed mother on welfare."

"What about adoption?"

"Her mother said she wanted to keep the baby." He looked up at Scully. "I don't think she realized the impact the yearbook had on her daughter, and I didn't mention it," he said quietly. "Her mother was the one who found her. She slit her wrists with a kitchen knife."

Scully didn't say a word. Just closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Mulder touched her arm very lightly, and Scully's eyes opened. "Who was it then? Baby's father? Old boyfriend?"

"The father--James Brandt."

When Mulder was this positive, Scully didn't even bother asking why he was so sure. She just accepted it as fact and went on from there. "Where's he been for 27 years?"

"Prison. He was already serving the first of four consecutive ten-year terms when she died."

"For what?"

"Armed robbery--bank hold-up. Two police officers were killed."

She nodded. "And the timetable? Friday nights between 12 and 1? What was the significance of that?"

He blew out a breath. "I think it was when she visited him."

"What? Surely they didn't have visiting hours that late."

"No, but they did have them between 12 and 1 during the day. Her mother said that Friday was an early release day for Louise--only lunch left after her last class at 11:30. She'd visit Brandt from 12 to 1 and then go home."

"But why did Brandt switch from p.m. to a.m.? No one home in the daytime?"

Mulder shrugged. "That's the only reason I could come up with."

"And his vendetta against the yearbook staff? They weren't responsible for her selection as 'Most Likely to Succeed," were they?"

Mulder shook his head. "No. All those 'Most Likely to's' were voted on by the entire senior class." His voice softened. "They found Louise's yearbook in his apartment. She was one of them."

"One of whom?"

"The yearbook staff. She was on the staff, but when she became pregnant, the school removed her. It wasn't in her bio, but her mother told me. Before they gave her her copy of the yearbook, all the staff signed it. Brandt said that all those well-wishes pushed her right over the edge, that it was their fault she killed herself and his baby." Mulder sighed. "The man is unbalanced. He never even took into consideration that his victims weren't always the right sex or age. He had no idea that he hadn't killed who he intended to kill."

"When did you turn it in?"

"I e-mailed it over to Dutton around four o'clock. They were able to catch Brandt just as was getting home from work.

She sighed. "So that's it. Boyfriend out for revenge. A motive as old as the hills. Spooky pulls another one out of his hat."

Mulder smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Spooky and the missus. It was as much your profile as mine."

She shook her head. "I appreciate the generosity, Mulder, but I slept through it. It's all yours."

"Ours. You picked up on Cataldo; there wouldn't be a profile if you hadn't."

"Mulder--"

"It's done, Scully. Both our names are on it--and rightly so."

She smiled shyly at him. "Well... thanks."

He returned the smile, pleased that she'd seen it his way. "Hey..." he said softly when her eyes drifted closed. "Why don't you get some more sleep?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" she asked, eyes still shut.

"Never, Scully," and he said it so tenderly that she had to open her eyes to make sure it really was Mulder.

Her eyes met his for only an instant before he turned away, a rare expression of self-consciousness on his face. She was reminded of a scene in a car, of hurt feelings and a wounded ego. He'd been hurt so much by this case--by enemies and friends alike--she refused to have him hurt any further.

Taking hold of his arm with both hands, she rested her head against his shoulder. "Thanks, partner."

His sigh of contentment was her lullaby; she closed her eyes and let it carry her away.

* * *

**Boston Field Office Thursday April 18, 1996 9:18 a.m.**

"Come in."

Mulder turned the knob, and he and Scully stepped into Dutton's office. "You wanted to see us, John?"

The SAC motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please."

Mulder seated himself to Scully's right, still somewhat uncomfortable being in the Boston Office after having been wheeled out on a stretcher only two days ago. He wondered what Dutton needed to tell them in person that he couldn't tell them on the phone.

"I understand you're flying out later today?" He looked from Scully to Mulder.

Mulder nodded and saw Scully do likewise.

"Bob MacNicol told me what really happened, Mulder. If you want to press charges--"

"No," Mulder said quickly. "He lost his temper. It happens."

"Still, you have every right--"

"John, I said no. I'm fine; let's just forget it, okay?"

Dutton let out a huge sigh. "Okay." He nodded his thanks but didn't voice them. "Um... I actually called you down here to thank you both. The profile was dead on. I'm sure no one here would have made the connection with the yearbook," he said, looking at Mulder. "And we completely missed that bit with Cataldo. Very nice work, Agents."

Mulder and Scully looked up in surprise; compliments were far and few between, even when they were warranted.

Scully found her tongue first. "Uh... thank you, sir."

"Thanks, John," Mulder said quietly.

"I spoke to your AD this morning."

Both agents looked up apprehensively.

"He said he doesn't want to see either one of you until Monday, and then he wants you in his office at 10 a.m."

Mulder grinned and shook his head. "So that's the result of ending a case with a commendation instead of condemnation." He looked at his partner. "You'll have to try to be more cooperative from now on, Scully... stop pissing off the locals."

She sighed. "I'll try."

Dutton looked perplexed for a moment, then tumbled to the agents' banter. "All right, go on. Get back to Washington. And don't take this the wrong way, Agents, but I hope I don't see you in my office for a long time."

Mulder and Scully smiled. "That goes double for us," Mulder said. They shook hands with Dutton and left his office.

They were almost to the outer door when MacNicol came through it. Mulder hesitated half a second and continued smoothly on his way, nodding to MacNicol as he passed him. He was just about to open the door when MacNicol's, "Mulder," stopped him short.

Sighing inwardly, Mulder gave Scully a "God save me" look and then turned toward the Boston agent.

MacNicol took a step nearer to Mulder, but still maintained a respectable distance. "Look, Sp-- Mulder. I'm sorry I hit you."

Mulder nodded. "Yeah. Okay." They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Mulder decided to relent. "I'm not pressing charges, if that's what you're worried about."

The other agent let out a breath. He met Mulder's eyes then looked away. "Thanks."

Another nod from Mulder. "It's okay; I've been there myself."

"I'll bet you have."

Mulder's and MacNicol's eyes connected and locked. Mulder could almost taste what was coming, but his perverse sense of self-destruction wouldn't let him look away.

"I don't like you, Spooky. Never have, never will. You were always too damned smart for your own good. Yeah, I'm sorry I hit you, but only because it's unprofessional, not because you didn't deserve it."

Scully had heard enough of MacNicol's "apology." She tugged on her partner's arm. "Come on, Mulder. Let's go."

"What's the matter, Scully? You're not defending your 'partner?' Didn't get any last night?"

Scully's mouth dropped open and she gaped at MacNicol--for a total of two seconds. She glanced at a horrified Mulder, then stepped right up into MacNicol's personal space and stabbed his eyes with hers. "Well, that's certainly not anything _you'd_ ever be likely to know, would it, you jerk?" Then she pivoted, "accidentally" whacking the Boston agent in the groin with her shoulder purse.

He gasped and doubled over, then wheeled toward her angrily. When she didn't flinch from his attack he backed down and slithered away.

Scully dusted her hands against each other, then put a finger to her lips and blew the smoke from her symbolic gun barrel. She walked over to Mulder. "Good riddance."

Despite his approval of her action, he couldn't prevent a wince. "Now you know why I try to stay on your good side," he said.

"I've always known it, Mulder. And no matter what you may have done, you've never done anything to deserve *that.*"

"For which I am eternally grateful."

"Yet."

"Ouch."


End file.
